The Art of Insanity
by TheEvilMuffinToaster
Summary: It takes skill to be an agent, but only an artist can manage the true properties of Insanity.  Hetalia/Criminal Minds Crossover
1. Fall

The Art of Insanity

It takes skill to be an agent, but only an artist can manage the true properties of Insanity.

_If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle. _"The Art of War" by Sabaton

* * *

The BAU was quiet. It was odd really; normally seeing as telephones were ringing until they fell off their hooks and agents stationed among the place were bickering with co-workers over nonchalant things and making casual death threats and insults often caused the loud noises that littered the place.

But maybe its quietness came from the fact it was nearly midnight.

At least, one person was still enjoying the silence. This person was David Rossi. He was in his office, stuck with the idea for a new book he had to write down. He knew he wasn't supposed to be writing much any more but he just had to. It was in his blood. Once a writer steps down that path, they cannot go back. They are literally trapped in a world of imagination for the rest of their lives. For writers, there is no difference between fact and fiction.

"Rossi."

The voice came from the shadows, as if they were the shadows themselves. The voice was quiet, but he knew immediately who it was. He would always remember that voice. It was a voice that could haunt anyone's nightmares for years on end.

He opened his mouth to speak but a soft giggle shushed him. They stepped from the shadows, the usual smile spread wide and the odd coloured eyes narrowed with fake glee. The beige scarf was missing.

"I hear Alfred has gone missing, yes?"

Rossi looked back down at this laptop, the white screen looking back tauntingly at him, before looking back up at the other.

"Your scarf if missing."

The man looked down and touched tenderly at his neck as if noticing for the first time that his normal beige scarf was not there. "You are right, but you did not answer my question."

When Rossi opened his mouth, the man lifted a finger as to silence him. "I have noticed this a lot in people, yes? When questions are asked, people often reply with answers that do not answer the question. They reply with their thoughts instead. Someone could ask "How is the Weather?" and the other person could answer what the temperature was. That was not the question. They wanted to know the weather, not the degrees of it was. I find this odd, yes? Normal human behaviour, is it not? If someone wanted to know what the other was thinking, wouldn't they ask for their thoughts? But really, humans are silly. Humans are very, very silly."

That was another quirk he had noticed. He spoke like he was a being from another planet; like he was above the human race and their silly ways. He spoke as he himself was not human.

"So, yes, Rossi." The man giggled , immediately returning to his train of original though. "Alfred _is _missing, yes?"

There was a mad giggle bathed with fake happiness and Rossi finally got to see what the man had been twirling in his gloved fingers as he stepped closer and into the light.

It was a metal pipe.  
Stained with blood.

Well, that was lovely.

Rossi interlaced his fingers and stared at the other, who only smiled that odd, cold smile.

"Yes, he is."

The air went cold.

"_Ah. _Do you know what happened?"

"No."

"_L__ezhit_!"

"What do you mean 'lies'? I'm telling you the truth, Braginsky!"

That's who this was. Ivan Braginsky [Иван Брагински] – Notorious Russian Mafia member. Or at least, that's who he said he was. There was nothing about him. And by nothing, he _meant _nothing. It was as if the man wasn't even a molecule on the extensive plain of reality. No fingerprints, no files, no pictures, no crimes, no history or facts or any proof that he even existed in the first place. The only proof of existence was himself and his ties to the Russian Government – who as well denied his existence. He lived in the shadows and worked by night. He was unable to be captured, but he had murdered hundreds as the rumours said. A true mass aura of evil exerted from this creature of the dark in Rossi's opinion. Ivan though looked innocent though most of the time – with his platinum blond hair and oddly coloured violet eyes that were rarely seen in humans. Though, looks were known to be deceiving, seeing as all he did was strike fear into the hearts of others and he seemed completely content with that.

A dangerous '_kol_' slipped from the heathen's mouth. "...Oh da? The truth, you say? Tell me, Rossi, tell me what your version of this _truth is_." Ivan purred. "What exactly is the _truth."_ Purple eyes narrowed and the grin dropped. "Tell me. What has happened to my little Alfred? Do not tell me that I have no right to know. I _do _wish to know. And well...You're well aware of what happens when I'm not told the things I want, aren't you?"

David did not allow himself to be fazed by the secret threat. "It's private business."

"Alfred's business has always been my business."

"When did you decide that?"

Ivan looked up at the ceiling, as if thinking hard. "Hmm...There is no date as if I remember correctly because neither of us could exactly agree on one... But I would estimate...September 2nd, 1945."

The agent only stared at the Russian, as if daring him to repeat that. That date was _years_ ago, some sixty-seventy to be exact. And if anyone knew their facts, it was the end of World War II and considered to be the beginning of the Cold War.

"Alfred F. Jones is a nineteen year old junior agent from New York, New York. Not some old agent from World War II."

Ivan giggled. Rossi couldn't get used to that. Ivan was a grown man and grown men did not giggle, smile like a child and only the weird ones carried around bloodied pipes. Speaking of the bloodied pipe, it twirled in Ivan's hands like a baton.

"Silly, silly Идиот." The pipe bounced up and down within the others gloved fingers. "Alfred is much, much older than that. I tell him time and time again not to lie about his age, but the _malchik_ never listens!"

"Oh then, pray tell. How old is he?"

"I suppose that July 4th, 1776 could be used as the date, but so can the date of somewhere in 896 as well. Though, I believe the phrase is 'Do the math, da?'. He is much, much older than you claim him as."

"Even though, the Human body _is_ built for life sustaining up to just about one-hundred ninety-six years, I doubt the missing agent is as old as you claim him to be! That is two-hundred and thirty-five years of age or One-thousand one-hundred and fifteen years we are talking about here. Those ages are not humanly possible!"

When Rossi said that, Ivan's smile went dark and the amethyst eyes glazed over with a certain edge of madness. "Well..." His voice was deep and saturated with anger. "Who said we were human?"

"What do you mean–"

"Assumption!"

"Ivan–"

"Look at your facts _Mr. Rossi_," Ivan murmured strangely before laughing rather violently. "Look at your precious history books that records the short, but rather lucky past of your oh-so precious Godforsaken country! It will tell you all that is needed to be known. It shall tell you all you deserve to know! Tell me, Rossi! Haven't you thought about why a rather important organisation such as the F.B.I would spend so much time looking for a missing _junior_ agent? Think, Rossi, think!" Ivan tapped his temple madly with a gloved hand in crazed state of madness. "The answer is right before you! It has always been right before you!"

The Russian suddenly moved in on him, grabbing his tie and pulling him half-way over the desk and towards his face. The man's grin widened with sadistic glee, the amethyst eyes brightening up the semi-dark room. "Now, Rossi, you _will _find me my precious Alfred won't you?"

"Missing Agents are not in my depart–"

"You're not _seeing _anything are you?" The mad-man sneered, pushing the agent away. "You see, Alfred had stolen something very important from me before he had disappeared." Seemingly unconsciously, a gloved hand went up to Ivan's jugular, curling sensibly around the neck. "Something _very _important. If I do not get it back soon, there will be terror. Heaps upon heaps of cruel terror that will tear this proud country back down to the third-world country it was before the Revolution! Mass pandemonium shall be spread, one could say!"

The agent scowled angrily. "What's this important thing of yours?"

The glove left Ivan's neck and the Russian slammed his hands on the desk. "My _scarf._ Now, your silly little brain might not understand this, but that is my livelihood and is what keeps me, you and your 'precious' little country _alive!_" Ivan snarled.

"It's a scarf."

"Oh yes, just a scarf. Such a thing that has been with me through just about every war, for the destruction of my sanity and the birth of my madness, and the collapse of my House! It protects me from the claws of General Winter and keeps my secrets safe. The value of the scarf alone is more important than all the money in the world! Oh silly little human, it is far more important than you'd think.

Suddenly, he stepped back and held his head up high; revealing a rather thin, scarred neck marred over horribly with thick and jagged scars of all types and sizes. And if "If Alfred is not found soon, you soon shall all suffer."

"Just who do you think you are?" Rossi demanded and Ivan lowered his head and grinned.

"Da, comrade, just who am I? Well, I'll tell you!" Ivan's smile dropped completely and when he spoke, his voice sounded hollow. "I am Russia. People fear me and people hate me. I am the enemy of most countries, the source that strikes fear into my neighbours and some might say the demon that haunts the most darkest of souls. I strive for the light, but instead thrive in the darkness due to my incessant fear of what it beholds. Sunflowers are what I look forward to one day being spread all across my land, but instead there is nothing but ice and snow. It is a _pleasure _to meet you once again Rossi!"

Russia let out another laugh before turning around to leave. Before he faded once more back into the shadows, the pale-haired man gave one last farewell message.

"_Pakah, _David Rossi. Just remember that the answers you seek lie just before you! The truth is not for all men, but only for those who seek it!"

And with a final _kolkolkolkol_, the man was gone.

The moment he was sure the other was not there, David walked as calmly as he could to his office door and locked it and dead-bolted it before walking back to his desk and sitting down in the chair.

_Humans, nations...Personified countries?_

"I don't know what you're telling me, Ivan..." David frowned and sighed. "You're asking the impossible."

Sighing, he started to clear away the stuff on his desk when suddenly a book fell to the floor. When had that book been there? Had been his first thought before he shook his head. He leaned over his desk to grab it when he stopped.

The book had fallen open to a page. This page was dusty and yellowed with edge and ripped in the corner. Within the book was an old painted picture of the founding fathers. But something was wrong. There were eight people in the picture. Seven of the people were the founding fathers, everyone knew that. But in the photo, there was one more. They had an ageless face and bright blue eyes. He knew that face was familiar, as if he had seen it before.

On a whim, David grabbed the paperwork off of his table, flipping through the file quickly and gasped quietly when he finally found what was needed. He lifted the picture out of the file before bending down to pick up the book.

The severity dawned upon him like a house of bricks crumbling.

The person within the book and the person within the photo was one in the same: Junior Agent Alfred F. Jones.

* * *

David, early the next morning, was eventually found by Reid. Of course, David was sure he had dead-bolted the door last night, but the young genius said nothing about how he got in or how he got past the dead-bolt.

The profiler handed David his morning coffee and took a quick look at the messy state of the man's desk before sitting down. The desk was in an even worse state than usual The laptop was pushed off to the side, teetering dangerously off the side and thick stacks of badly-aged files were spread across the desk with heavy leather-bound books laying on top of them and on the floor.

"New case?"

The elder man ran a hand through his hair and noticed with a grimace that it was thinning again. "No, but Spencer...What do you know about a Mr. Alfred F. Jones?"

"From what I heard," The young genius started, " is that he's a missing FBI agent that not only has the entire FBI looking for him but also just about every other major American criminal organisation out there."

"Anything...else?"

Spencer shook his head "No, nothing. Why do you ask?"

There was some silence before Rossi spoke again. The man leaned back in his chair and sighed. "I was visited by Ivan Braginsky last night."

"H-How did he get in the building?" Reid had met Ivan. And just to say, Ivan gave him the creeps.

"I personally don't know...But he did tell me something. Something that I'm still finding hard to believe. And I researched it all night last night. And I'm horribly afraid to say that was Braginsky told me was correct and if Braginsky does not get what he wants within the time limit then what he predicted will most indefinitely occur."

"What did he tell you?"

Rossi grimaced again. "Can you keep a secret, Reid?"

"Well, I can, but considering the severity of my job and the people I deal with; there is not telling what will happen if I am forced under extreme interrogation again so I suppose–"

"_Can _you was my question, Spencer."

"Oh yeah...Yes, I can."

"Good," The profiler leaned back in his chair and picked up a nearby file. "Now, Alfred F. Jones is no ordinary FBI agent. And nor has he ever been. From the records, it says that Alfred has been enrolled as a junior agent since 1900–"

"But that was over–"

"–Which _leads _to the fact that I have discovered that Alfred is not a regular human. Alfred F. Jones is the living embodiment, or the human personification of the United States of America."

An awkward silence set over the room when suddenly, there was heavy sound of a gun being cocked and David and Spencer looked up to see a bushy-browed man with blond hair and green eyes step threateningly into the room.

"Sorry to ruin your morning tea, chaps," the blond said in a rather London-centric English accent, "but I'm afraid I'll have to put an end to this little party of yours!"

* * *

Russia felt himself smiling at the moon, who said nothing back to him as usual. The moon was such a quiet being and often said nothing! Oh what a horrible companion it was sometimes! And when it even did talk, it said nothing useless! On those rare nights when he swore that the moon talked back to him as he did to it, it only whispered words of deceitful meaning and talked of horrible things that could only end in bloodshed!

Oh, the moon was such a horrible companion, but he was bonded to it. He was bonded to it by a promise.

It was said by some that a person who made a promise to the moon was cursed.

Oh yes, he was cursed. He was cursed with insanity. He was cursed with the fact that there was no way to escape reality, but only continue on living in it. He was cursed with the madness of the moon.

"Don't worry, _Alfred_," Ivan purred. "I will find you. Oh yes, I will find you, my doll! Even if I have to use those silly little agents of yours!"

And with a frightful laugh, the Russian was gone once more.

* * *

**Note:**

Eventual three -shot. Hopefully, more comes to me.

And you will not _believe _the derp I had to go through with to post this!

And I really have to apologise if this offends anyone. I just wanted this posted and over with because if it did not get posted now - it would _never _be posted and would forever be succumbed to the fate of being lost in my archives forever.


	2. Falling

The Art of Insanity  
_Part II_

It takes skill to be an agent, but only an artist can manage the true properties of Insanity.

I'm not defenseless anymore, no more.  
You've built this wall to hide in shame, no shame.  
I will not fear your art of war.  
No war, it makes me sick, it makes me cringe.  
I will not fear your art of war. "The Art of War" by Ill Niño.

* * *

They were said to be immortal.

They were said to be invincible.

But even they succumbed to the darkness.

* * *

_There was no escape from here; he knew that much. The darkness was suffocating him. It was hard to breathe. There was no light. Had he been abandoned? Was there no hope? Where were all of his friends?There's too much darkness...So many thoughts were pulsing in his head, so many were merging one and so many were forging their way ahead to be heard first. _

_It hurt. He hurt all over. The darkness was pressing in on his wounds; deepening, widening them more._

_He felt that if he did not remember who he was, he would be swallowed up by the darkness._

_He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. His voice was gone; weakened immensely by hours of no water._

_The man hung his head in shame, holding back the need to cry. There was nothing left. All except..._

_Darkness. That is all there was and he what was he feared, that is all it would ever be. There was nothing any more._

_All there was around him was the shifty loom of darkness and the mere thought of possible death hanging just overhead. _

_As the saying went, ye all who enter abandon hope. _

_There was no hope now._

"Alfred, Alfreeeeeeeed. I have come to play~!"

¬/

The man that stood before them did not look like much of a man who was used to joking around often. The smile he held was cruel and nasty and it spoke tales upon tales of cruel things that it had bore witness to. But this smile also bore a weakness: it was far too awkward – like it had been a long time since the last time he had smiled at all. This smile also told that the severity of the situation was no joke. It told them that it knew something they did not. And due to the severity of the situation, whatever it knew was not going to be good for them.

Already acting upon _fight or flight _responses, Reid immediately went for his gun. This move must have been expected because the bushy-browed man intercepted the agent's move and tsked in impatience. "Sorry lad," He said without a shred of sympathy before going and tipping back the young genius's chair and spilling the young agent onto the floor. "But I simply cannot have you going all trigger-happy on me just yet."

"_You're _the one with the gun," Rossi pointed out and the man just smiled in response and tapped the magnum revolver against his temple.

"Oh yes, I am the one with the gun here. But," The man's smile dropped and the gun was pointed at Rossi once more, "I know you're hiding him."

"Now, the possibilites of that happening are very low indeed" Spencer answered, sitting up carefully with his eyes trained on the Briton and uprighted his chair before sitting back down. "Who would Agent Rossi be hiding at this hour in the morning?"

"Ivan Braginsky. Who _else?_"

Rossi glared at the blond man, who just as easily sneered his own nasty glare back. "This is a department designed to study and catch _psychopathic _serial murderers. Not a keep-out for some of the most dangerous mafia members out there. While I have had the (dis)pleasure of meeting Mr. Braginsky, I have to say that what you're insinuating is perposterous. I must wonder why on _earth _would I stake my life and my job to hide him here, especially after he's threatened to kill me several times as you so boldly assume?"

The British man snorted. "Why, hell, where else would he be? Ivan dropped off the map only hours after that git disappeared. It makes perfect sense as to why he would come here!"

"How do you know that he came here? What makes you think I actually have had recent connections with the Mafia in the first place?"

"I have spent _years_ dealing with Ivan's well-put Bullshit. And may I say – his bullshit is completely spectactular. Somehow, some-way, the man has accumulated the ability to lie his way out of just about _anything_. He's a bloody genius in both war and with people – despite having the characteristic of a schizophrenic pot-head. Why else would he come here? Yes, this is a department built specifically to deal with psychopaths and their ways. But Ivan _is _a psychopath. He's a mad, mad man who is still lost in the years of when he was the Soviet Union! He's bloody kidnapped Alfred before! Of course he would come here!"

"You know that Ivan is a country?" Rossi calmly leaned back in his chair, completely at ease with the situation now.

The British man twitched and swore as he noticed his own mistake. "Oh yes. As I have said, I've worked with the brute for years. I'm the bloody personification of the United Kingdom. Of course, I know the man's a country. A mad, insane and possibly unstable one yes. But a country none the less."

"The…United Kingdom."

"Well, _obviously_. My name is Arthur Kirkland and I have been sent out by my own government to find that ignoramus of a country and that mad man." With a huff, Arthur put away the gun. "Now, what do you guys know?"

"know about what?"

"Oh herpderpderpityherp. What else is there? Us being _countries_, you idiot. Honestly, and here I was thinking I had actually come across a pair of intelligent Americans for a moment. Now, do you have any tea? I'm awfully parched and I have a feeling we're going to spend a lot of time together."

* * *

Approximately twenty minutes later, it was somewhere around nine and Rossi could comfortably say that Arthur Kirkland – or England, he liked to be called – was what one would think whenever they thought of a British person. The thick eyebrows, the stocky height, the sexy accent, the cynical gentleman-like attitude and the odd tea fixation. It was as if Arthur Kirkland was a walking, talking bundle of stereotypes.

"Well, I'm bloody glad that I didn't shoot anyone," England said with a sip of his tea. "But I can't say I'm pleased with knowing that someone on the outside knows about the secret."

"The secret?" Reid asked.

"Yes lad. The Certain-group-of-people-being-the-embodiment-of-nations secret. I'm sorry if you're a bit confused, after all you have just learned that there really are people who are the personification of nations. I'll promise to explain as much as I can. There is no rule saying that we cannot tell anyone of this outside of our own kind, as I damn sure that idiotic Roman Empire told women (and various men that pertained to his interest) that he was the embodiment of the empire to get beneath their covers. But, really, it really is for the best."

"What about your bosses?"

"Interested, eh?" England chuckled. "Well, I'm not surprised. Actually, I read up on your team before I had come here. From what I've learned, you're a very smart young man. Are you sure you're American?" At Reid's blank stare, Arthur shook his head and sipped his tea. "But yes. The 'bosses' know about us. They normally know, but I must honestly say us nations have very little control over our countries sometimes due to them. Really, this current one of mine thinks that they could rule England _so _much better. Bunch of Right-Wing lunatics if you ask me! The bloody bollocks they attempt to pass is such ruddy shite and it isn't as if they ask _me _for their opinion. _Noooo! _I'm just the bitter old twat with thick eyebrows and has a fancying for embroidering and the ancient magicks!

Arthur sounded absolutely bitter at that point and drained a good portion of his tea in attempts to calm himself down.

"So, I'm guessing there is more to being a nation?" Rossi quested, intrigued by the British man's drastic change in attitude.

"It's no walk in the park, it's more like walking through a mine-field – I can tell you that much. Anyway, we've gone horribly off track at this point. This little meeting of ours isn't about me. It's about Ivan and the missing idiot, Alfred."

"Yes. Who exactly is Alfred?"

"Hmm, well – oh bloody hell, I'm out of tea." The British man put down his cup and looked at the two agents. "Well, why don't tell me?"

Rossi scratched his chin. "Well, from what I understand – he's the nation of America and had disappeared about three weeks ago outside Washington D.C this disappearance has warranted most of the important criminal organisations to search for him. From what I gathered, he has stolen an important article of clothing from I–_Russia _and–"

_"Wait. _Wait a bloody minute. Alfred stole something from Russia?"

"Yes, and that's one of the only things Ivan had told me when he had visited–"

"That blood twat!" Arthur growled. "That bloody childish no-good twat face! He said he wouldn't do this again after the last time!"

"Alfred?"

"Yes, that bloody wanker! You think he would learn!"

"Something horrible," England groaned. "That stupid bloody idiot"

"England, what happened?"

"Cold War. Last time that moron stole Russia's scarf, the moron nearly got himself blown up via Cuba! Goddamn, you think he would learn from trial and error!"

"Then who else would it be?"

"Unfortunately, I have no clue and I'm probably sure that even if Russia were here, he most likely would not tell us who was at fault. But," Arthur's eyes went downcast in thought. "It has to be him...It has to! It was him the last time..."

Reid looked at England in confusion. "Has this happened before?"

"Yes," Arthur rubbed the bridge of his nose. "It has to be Russia. Russia did this twenty years ago – right before the Soviet Union fell. It _has _to be him...!"

But even England didn't sound too sure.  
¬**/**

_How many days had it been? It had to have been so many. It felt like years. If he ever escaped, would there still be a sun? Would his friends still welcome him with a door to the face when he attempted to get them to go on adventures? Would his friends still be there?Was this the end?_

**¬/  
**

In the end though, it did not work out well.

England had gotten to meet the team though and had been alerted of the situation.

But it was odd when they had met him. The Briton had talked to the four who did not know of the previous meeting that occurred with Reid and David. He spoke of odd things too, those odd things he spoke of where things that only the one within the B.A.U. knew. Arthur spoke with a gentleman-like attitude, as if sweet-talking his way into something illegal; slipping into cynicism when his memory failed him slightly. He said these things to get their trust, and get their trust he did.

It was odd though.

He knew so much.

The Englishman knew that J.J. had recently had a child and had married a sweet southern detective that had worked with them on a previous case oh so long ago. He knew of how Reid's mother was schizophrenic and had taught some sort of College-level English and he knew of the overwhelming guilt Reid often suffered for having her committed. He knew of Garcia, and her technology prowess. He knew of Emily and her darkened past. He knew how Derek had been the one who the not-so innocent childhood and that the only reason that Rossi had come out of his 'retirement' was to solve the case of a murdered family that had plagued his conscious for years. He also knew, that there had been two others. That there had been two more agents who had left the B.A.U for both selfish and yet selfless reasons. He knew of Elle, who had resigned in a noble-like fashion after her brutal murder of a rapist and how she could not handle the job any more and he spoke of Jason, the former boss that had disappeared and could no longer be reached. And then, when he had their trust (or had them in a trance due to his extensive knowledge of all their pasts, which of course, could come off extremely creepy to others), he had broken the news.

"I am Arthur Kirkland. Personification of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. It's a pleasure to meet you all."

And with that the day had started to continue on, but the pleasant mood that had been set had been destroyed when David asked that bitchy woman he called a boss if he and his team could take on the case. It has been discovered that Rossi and his team could not take on attempting to find the missing junior agent. It is said that they are not allowed because there is no missing agent and that no Alfred F. Jones exists and that if there really was such a person as Alfred F. Jones, he wouldn't be worth the time of the B.A.U.. Therefore, they cannot do anything.

"Bloody hell." Arthur grunted, gentleman-like attitude dropped. "The damn government must of found out that Ivan contacted you already. Damn, they move quick."

"Why would the government want to interfere?" Emily asked.

"Personally, I have no idea. But I think it falls under the fact that humans should not interfere in the affairs of nations. It causes shit to get real, as some would say. And in the case of France, it causes them to get pregnant. Even though I'm particularly guilty of using humans to spy on my foes, it shouldn't be done. But it is obvious that it has to be done or else America is going to be...well, fucked."

Derek looked at the Englishman funny. "I'm still finding it hard to believe that there are actually personified nations, but really, what are we going to do?"

England sighed at this. "I guess nothing will be done until there is proof that Alfred has been kidnapped or hurt. Really, the government just needs one clue and you'll be all set to go!"

"But, what I don't understand is that all Agencies dealing with missing persons have been dispatched to try and find Mr. Jones. Why would the government try to hide his disappearance?" J.J. asked.

"To limit the amount of people knowing that Alfred is missing." England replied. "Or, at least, try to keep it under wraps until he can be found. Not much sense this makes, I know. But Alfred's government is trying to cover up as much as they can. You see, my fellow nations and I have been sent out to try and keep Alfred's enemies from finding out, but we have also been sent out because we're well-aware that the agencies sent out won't be able to do squat about him. Humans shouldn't interfere in a nation's business. Besides, they can't even get in Alfred's house."

"The White House?"

Arthur shook his head "Fortunately not Miss J.J., or else the possibilites of you lot retrieving a warrant would be slim to none. Alfred hasn't lived in the White House since his brother burnt it down in the War of 1812. Instead, he lives just...about an hour from here, over near Arlington. But no, the agents (the F.B.I.'s, not ours) already sent out haven't been able to break Alfred's pass-code. I'm not surprised though and I really don't blame him. Ever since that September 11th of his, his paranoia has gone through the roof."

"It's been three weeks though." Hotchner answered the Briton and looked at Derek, who scratched his chin in response. "Hmm...I bet Garcia could break that passcode easily."

"Perhaps she could. But, I have...attempted that Git's security system. Nearly singed of my damn eyebrows it did! It can only be disabled three ways. Via Alfred's keys, the passcode or manually by hand – and of course, only five people know the code. Alfred, Kiku, Toris and myself. And Alfred's roommate, but he doesn't matter and probably won't ever will. _Point _though," At this, he looked at Hotchner with a even more serious expression than normal. "If you and your ragtag band of profilers can manage to get yourself a case, I'll work on getting you lot access to Alfred's house."

Rossi nodded and scratched his beard; the small voice at the back of his mind telling him that he was in desperate need of a trim. "That sounds moderately fair. But...What judge in their right mind would offer a warrant for access to the house of someone who supposedly doesn't even exist?"

"Ah, you ask a rather excellent question, Rossi. But, I'm afraid I won't be able to answer you. All I have to say is that no one will question your presence at the house." Then, the Englishman looked down at his watch and swore. "Oh bloody hell! This ruddy Rolex. I was supposed to be gone ten minutes ago! Well, it has been lovely meeting you chaps, but I really need to be off."

"I'll lead you outside." Rossi offered, standing up and following England out of the door.

"Thank-you."

"You're welcome...But I'm curious. How did you get inside in the first place?"

Arthur gave him a sly look out of the corner of his eye as they left the room of profilers. "A wizard never tells his secrets."

"Don't you mean–"

"I mean what I mean," Arthur answered with a flick of his wrist. "But I do wish you and your team good-luck from here on out. I don't know if you'll get the case or not, and Russia isn't exactly a fluffy charac – _Jesus Christ, _that goddamn frog!"

Without warning, England shot away from Rossi with such quick speed and stormed up to a rather good looking slender blond man that was leaning over the receptionist's desk with a coy look in his eye. "You damn twat! I told you to _stay in the car_ and not come inside!"

The man said something to the receptionist and turned to look at the British man, looking horribly offended at both Arthur's nasty language and crass attitude towards himself. "_Moi_? Well, _mon cher_, you're the one who took so long! A man of my fine background can only be kept waiting oh so long and with such a lovely woman right before me, how could I resist the temptation?"

"You're French! You have no fine background!"

"_Casse-toi! _Take that back!"

"Make. _Me_."

The Frenchman's look turned lecherous. "Is that a come-on Arthur? _L'Hon-hon-hon~_"

"You and bloody 'hon's'! Keep it in your pants for once, Francis!"

"Oh, but the true romanticist inside of me begs to free!" Francis started to tug dramatically at his rather fancy clothing. "These clothes restrict me!"

"Don't you dare!"

The predatory gleam returned to Francis's blue eyes. "Why? Are you already jealous of my body? Oh silly L'Angleterre! Just because I have the body you want doesn't mean you need stop everyone else from basking in my beautiful glory!"

"Is it me or did your ego get twice its normal size?"

Then, suddenly, France stopped trying to undress himself and placed his hands on Arthur's clothing instead. "Take them off, Arthur! Show the world your true beauty!"

"W-What? The clothes stay _on, _Francis!"

"But everyone knows they look so much better on the floor!"

"I don't care! Let go!"

"Undress!"

"No!"

"Oui!"

"No!"

"_Oui!_"

"No, you bloody cunt-sucking frog. I will not get undressed!" And with that, Arthur flung himself at Francis and the two clashing nationalities literally fought themselves out of the door; screaming nasty insults all the while.

Rossi weakly touched a hand to his forehead. "I really need to take a vacation."

~.

_Hope was just a myth. It did not exist. There was no God; there was no ultimate being that watched and guided them all. There was just too many reasons to stop caring. _

_ But he was a hero! He couldn't just give _up_. It wasn't in his nature. To admit it was in his nature was to spit on the graves of those who helped make him – the ones who helped make him the failure of a country he was today._

_But how would be escape? How would he survive? He could only go so long without food. He was a nation though. _

_He had to survive. For his people._

_But sometimes, even that didn't seem like enough for him._

**~.**

Only three days later, the break they needed came.

**{xxXX{II}XXxx}**

This break did not come in the form of a person, like they had feared. No, instead it had come in the form of a well-written note inked down with bright red ink on some sort of papyrus paper and an old jacket. They were both clues – both very, very important clues.

And just enough to score them a case _and _a warrant.

The two clues were just enough proof. The jacket was found out to be Alfred's favourite, having been with him for years. The dark fur around the collar was matted - as if it had been through the dryer several times, the leather was cracked, the letter '_50_' was peeling and there were patches all over the place; Like the wearer had been shot and had the hole the inside though, there were bloodstains and attatched to a particularly large was the note

'_He is cold, he is lost. Remember, the answer is always where one least it expects it to lay.' _And scribbled at the bottom was Alfred's address.

"The writer is obviously not used to writing in English." Emily said, holding the note up with a rubber gloved finger. "The words are slanted and thick, but also slender and have a sort of grace to them – much like people of Slavic origins. These words are not used to English."

"And who ever wrote it, wrote it calmly." Derek pointed out, running his own fingers over the back of the papyrus-like paper. "The lightness of the writing means that he wishes to express their point clearly; and the red ink they used points out that they wish for attention and they wish to express their point clearly and loudly."

Emily pursed her lips. "I think its a man."

"A guy?"

She nodded to Derek. "I've never really liked much of the Slavic languages, but my mother writes often in Ukrainian. And when she writes in English, her writing is much like this – but there is a difference. Her words are often more slanted and more thin than these. Big but thin – not thick and graceful as the note makes. It is probably safe to assume that whoever wrote this is a Slavic man."

Reid looked somewhat worried at this. "That means–"

The genius suddenly cut himself off to turn and look to see who was entering the room now. It was David Rossi, looking as grim as usual. He sat down at the table the team was gathered around and looked at the note being held in Emily's hand before speaking. "England isn't coming."

"Did something come up?" Reid asked.

"His government called him back – something about idiots and trespassers. I don't really know, but he promised that he's sending another in his place someone by the name of Kiku."

"Didn't Arthur mention someone like him when we met him?"

"I think so Reid. Didn't he mention that one of the very few people who could make it into Alfred's house was himself, Alfred's roommate, Alfred himself, someone named Toris and another named Kiku?" Then something dawned on the elder agent's face. "I wonder...What the possibilities that this new person is himself a nation as well?"

"Extremely high." Emily answered.

"Not to mention that Arthur doesn't exactly like 'human interference'." Reid added in.

Derek scratched his chin in thought; the sound of the nails grating against the chin's hair making an irritating sound. "Kiku's...A Chinese name? Maybe he's the personification of China?"

"Current US relations with China aren't exactly that great." J.J added in. "He's probably Japan."

"Maybe," Hotchner said. "Anything is possible."

There was a sudden knocking on the door and Garcia came in, looking rather confused. "Sirs...There's a man here to see you?"

"Garcia, that's the receptionist's job to tell us that." Rossi told the confused techintican. "...And why do you sound confused?"

"Well, I didn't find him in the lobby..."

"Where did you find him?"

"...In my lab. I _swear _I didn't let him in!"

Rossi raised an eyebrow at this. "Did he give you his name?"

"Well, um, yes... He told me that his name was Honda Kiku and well...I kinda just left after that."

"And you just _left _him there?"

Garcia made a face. "Sorry sir. But, how else would you react to a strange Asian you've never met or seen sitting in your lab, and it is only nine in the morning?"

"What else did he tell you?"

"...You're probably not going to believe me."

"Try me." He's been harassed by a scarf less mostly alcoholic Russian and was nearly shot by a sober Englishman with overly thick eyebrows. There was practically nothing that could phase him any more.

"Well...He...told me...? He told me was the nation of Japan."

Yep. Nothing.

**¬/**

_How long would it take them to find his corpse?_

_**¬/**  
_

The man they met was not an odd man and did not stick out. He looked normal, he talked with a slight eastern Asian accent and he looked like a normal Japanese soldier. The only thing truly odd about his apperance was uniform – it was a World War II Japanese naval uniform. Honda Kiku at first did not seem like an odd man, nor did he seem like one that was harbouring a dark secret. He seemed like a typical humble Japanese man.

Of course, this is what set David on the offense.

He was noticing a pattern. Each character that claimed to be a nation seemed to act like the personification of that country's stereotypes. Like, Alfred had been said to obnxious and loud and only showing intelligence when it appealed to him; Ivan was big-nosed and was big-boned and seemed to have an addiction to Vodka; Arthur had been tempermental and was a cynical gentleman with bushy-brows and the named Francis had been 'spreading his l'amour' to everyone much like a Frenchman.

Other than that, he seemed normal.

Until he spoke to the team of course.

Awkwardly, Kiku shook hands with Rossi and gave a small bow. "My name is Honda Kiku. You must be David Rossi."

"Yes, and this is my team. I'll assume you'll be the one taking us to Alfred's home?"

The Asian nodded. "_Ig- _Arthur-san could not make it and he apologises for it... He has told me much about the situation and you do not have to worry about having access to Alfred's home. Arthur-san has securred it so that only you are the federal agents on the premises."

"Understandable, but this is not the place to talk. We should get to his house before our time runs out. How long do we have?"

"From noon to six."

With that, the team of six and the nation started to make their way outside; five of the members staying silent as they had done when David had conversed with Japan, who he noticed was walking awkwardly. He was standing as if he was not comfortable talking with strangers. His back was straight – far too straight – and his hands were at his sides as if he did not have any other place to put them. His face told it all though. He was emotionless as far as others could see; his lips hanging in that space between a smile and a frown and his brow set, but it was his eyes that told everything.

His eyes told stories. A lonely sea, souls forgotten by lost gods, years of mindless wars, endless heartbreak spread throughout a mountainous world, the sudden fear of losing the last sanctuary, untrust, and a period of vast lonliness where his only comfort had been himself. The stories seemed to be endless and they continued to get sadder.

When they made it to Japan's car (a small, tiny white car with silver rims of course), he bowed towards Rossi as if in apology. "I am sorry if I have offended you."

"...For what?"

Kiku looked confused for a moment before shaking his head. "For appearing in your co-worker's lab. The receptionist had not been in and I heard some man talking about duel processors..."

It took a moment for David to realise that Kiku was talking about how he had ended up in Garcia's room. "It's fine..."

"How did you get in there anyway?" Derek asked. "Garcia normally leaves her room locked when she leaves."

Before Japan could muster a reply, Spencer suddenly broke from the team and walked towards Japan's car and peered through the slightly tinted windows. "...Who's in your car?"

Japan blinked in confusion before giving a soft exclimation of rememberance and smiled softly. "I had forgotten about him. That is Greece-san. He likes cats...But how did you know if someone was in my car?"

"For some reason, I could hear meowing...And is he another country?" Reid questioned before peering back into the car. "...And there's a severe amount of cats in your car as well."

"Hai. Greece-san is my partner and no, those cats are not mine or his.. All nations parpictating in the search must be paired with a partner for safety, as we do not know yet if the person who kidnapped Alfred is only going to stop at him. But we must go, as you are all losing daylight. Alfred's house is a well-size but he has so many memory-rooms that it is not hard to get lost. We must get going, I am sorry."

**{xxXX{II}XXxx}**

Obsessively, Russia petted America's rather fat...animal: Mister Snuffaluffagus. Sometimes, Russia had to wonder if the animal was even an animal sometimes, but both Lithuania and America had claimed that it was definitely of some type of Cat. Whatever kind of cat they did not know, but Russia had the feeling that neither really cared.

To his left stood a shaking Lithuania, who had begun to alternate staring between the rather large bay window that decorated most of the wall and Russia. He stopped petting the large creature in his lap (who much to his digress was crushing his legs as well) and looked to the Baltic. "Something wrong, Lithuania?"

The Baltic shivered under his stare and Russia momentarily wondered what was wrong. Did it suddenly get cold or something? But he shrugged it off and continued to stare at the Baltic country.

"W-Well...Japan told me that the B.A.U. would be coming over at sometime today and I do not really think it is safe for you to be _here–"_

Lithuania was cut off by a sudden onslaught of childish laughter coming from the Russian nation. Ivan continued to pet the large cat and looked at Lithuania with wide eyes. But what Lithuania noticed that it was more as if Ivan was staring _through _him then staring at him. It was as if Russia was attempting to peer into the deepest part of his soul with those eerie violet eyes.

"Silly, silly little Lithuania!" Ivan cocked his head from side to side as he tsked the other nation. "Of course I know it is not safe for me to be here, yes? You seem to forget that I always have a plan. And even with such situations as this with that _Yeblan _missing! I always have a plan – whether it causes deadly harm to other participating parties does not really concern me as long as I get what I want in the end!" A mad glint entered his eyes. "And I always get what I want, isn't that right Lithuania?"

"Y-Yes sir.."

"Excellent, comrade! But, I do think you should be go getting ready and hiding Tony, da? After all, I don't think the Agents would be too fond of finding an Alien around the place and Alfred would be less than pleased having found out that his room-mate has been captured and returned to Area 51 on returning."

Lithuania nodded and started to leave before Russia suddenly exclaimed something and called back for him. Slowly, the Baltic turned around to spot a smiling Russia.

Now, Toris has been a witness to many of Mr. Russia's odd smilings. But this one, truly, it did take the cake for being the creepiest of them.

It almost looked like Russia from smiling from the bottom of his heart.

"Oh yes, Toris. Do not worry about me – I will be fine. I only plan to surprise that young one...He seems like a strong one, does he not? He will be fun..."

As Ivan descended into mad ramblings, Lithuania took that as a cue to leave. With a bow and a polite smile, the Baltic left to return to his duties.

Russia continued to pet Mr. Snuffaluffagus; the animal only curling into Ivan's touch as the long, slender gloved fingers continued to dance down its spine. Ivan knew though, that if he had not been wearing his gloves – the animal would had shied away from his cold touch.

But it was the closest thing to Alfred he currently had left.

"Oh this will be fun. Very, very fun..."

**{xxXX{II}XXxx}**

It was a quick ride, for an hour long ride, but it really had been helpful to have Kiku take them to Alfred's place of inhabitance. Alfred's house was in a valley of streets and would have been impossible to find without some sort of guidance. The house itself was not hard to miss, but the street had been as it had been a dead end in amidst a sea of dead-end roads.

The house was nice and appeared roomy. A three storey home with a colonial look to it and a partially fenced in backyard while the rest of the end gave way into a tangle of forest. After parking in Alfred's extensive driveway (where an orange 1954 Ford Convertible with the top pulled up was gathering dust), the team got out of the car and made their way over to where Japan was struggling with something in his car.

The Asian stood up and looked at them and nodded. "Please, give me a moment." He told them before leaning back over to get something in the trunk.

"Something up?" Derek asked, peering into the trunk and spotted the large bag of cat food that Kiku was attempting to pull from the back of the trunk.

"Alfred has a cat." With a small grunt, the Asian pulled out a _massive _bag of cat food out of the trunk. "I have given been the responsibility to feed his pet until he returns of course."

"...When was the last time he was fed?" Derek asked.

"Yesterday. I am afraid to say that he manages to eat a whole bag in a day."

"You're kidding right?"

"No, I unfortunately am afraid that the cat's diet puts a severe damper on my–" Japan's attention suddenly drew somewhere else as the sound of a door slamming was heard. A curly brunette with a double curl on his curl and green eyes exited Japan's car and blinked sleepily at everyone.

"Japan...You make so much noise..." The man gave a yawn and sauntered towards the Asian. "And the doctor said you shouldn't be carrying...such heavy things."

He spoke softly and spoke with a soft accent and was slightly hunched over as if he did not have enough energy to stand. He pulled the heavy bag out of Japan's hands like it was nothing and smiled at the Asian, who only stared back in annoyance.

"I may be over two-thousand years old but I am not an invalid yet!"

Greece ignored him and looked at the team, stopping only for a few seconds to stare at each of them before returning back to look at Japan. "...Who are your friends?" A large yawn erupted at the end of his sentence and he blinked sleepily. "Are they here to help...America...?"

Japan nodded, obviously still slightly angry with the Greek for having taken the bag from him. "Yes, Heracles-san. They've come to see the house."

"Which," Rossi interrupted and looked at his watch. "We only have a few hours to see. Do you think you could hurry it up a bit?"

"My apologies, Rossi-san." Japan gave a deep bow before standing up straight and looking straight at Greece, who only sleepily looked back – probably still having no idea as to what was happening. "Come with me, Heracles-san." And on that final note, Japan started towards the house, but before he could get too far away, Greece latched his only onto one of his hands and allowed himself to be pulled along by the Asian.

J.J. watched the odd pair leave and weave their way towards the house, with Japan trying to get the keys out of his pocket and attempting to get Greece to let go of his hand at the same time. Of course, Greece just kept smiling and had attempted to help Japan in finding his 'keys'. From her standing point though, it looked like the Greek was attempting to throw in a few sneaky gropes as well. At this moment though, she only had one comment: "Odd couple."

"I wonder..." Reid mumbled, looking down at the ground. "Possibly...?"

"Reid?" J.J. A waved a hand in front of her co-worker's face. "Um...You alive there?"

The young genius snapped out of his trance like he had been electrocuted . He shook his head and smiled at the blonde. "It's nothing. Just an idea that had bubbled to the surface." Reid clapped his hands together and falsely smiled. "Should we get going now?"

David looked at the younger agent with a hint of scepticism. "Yeah...Sure. We better get working on this quickly. We only have a few hours time left."

And with that, the team made their way towards America's house; well unaware of the dangers that lied within.

Immediately, they had found the room where the struggle had definitely taken place.

Because definitely people did not have doors nearly ripped off their hinges and doorknobs missing for pieces of odd pieces of house decorations - Nations or not. The destroyed door had been a sign that something bad had taken place here.

Inside the room was a office that appeared to be much like the Oval Office, but instead it was more of a hexagon shape with papers everywhere and pictures splattered the now-tattered wallpaper which had been a vibrant green colour.

The strong mahogany desk was smashed in two, broken picture frames littered the floor, a broken Samsung plasma television had been ripped off of its wall stand and had been thrown into the adjacent wall with violent force, and bloodstains had been smeared across the walls, as if someone had taken their fingers and rubbed the red substance all over with them.

"It looks like a war had occurred in here."

That of course is the first thing said when they see the room.

Japan nodded sadly. "America-san adored this room. It is his third favourite room next to the kitchen and the room of memori – what's that?"

"What's what?" Rossi inquired of the small Asian, who moved forward and towards the smashed desk. He pulled a tissue out of the Kleenex box that had fallen to the floor and picked up something that rested on the cracks of the split desk. "It's... A set of Keys?"

Attached to the keys was a note, written in a bold bright red ink that weaved itself across the papyrus paper.

The second clue had been found.

_He is held in the darkness, bound by his own misery. A key sets him free physically, but he is still bound by his mind; by his everlasting torment. There is no light._

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

Well, uh yeah, 7,000 something words. Took me a few weeks too.

I really don't know what I say. I horribly hope I have these guys all in character. The criminal mind characters are all probably fucked up but that's because I have a severe problem with writing about characters played by irl actors.

Just do.


	3. Dying

The Art of Insanity

It takes skill to be an agent, but only an artist can manage the true properties of Insanity.

_Hence to fight and conquer in all your battles is not supreme Excellency; supreme excellence consists in breaking the enemy's resistance without fighting. "_The Art of War" by Satbaton

* * *

It takes a true man to admit that he is sick; that he needs help and that he needs companionship. It takes a true man to admit that he is lost and that he must ask others for help. A true man admits his deepest fears and embraces the darkness like an old foe. Wine need not be his drink as the sweat shed from victories would suffice. A true man is an honest man and an honest man is lost.

_There are two infinite things in the universe: The Universe and Human stupidity. However, I'm not too sure about the Universe. _- Albert Einstein.

**{xxXX{III}XXxx}**

Kiku looked at the set of keys resting in his palm, his normally emotionless face drawn tight due to unease that had come at the hands of the keys. After a few moments of tense silence, he dragged the keys away from his face; fingers clenching tightly over the metal as if to hide it away from view.

"This is not good," He mumbled. "Oh so very not good..." In his concentration, Japan had begun to turn away from everyone without a half-assed explanation before Heracles grabbed his arm and tugged him back into a dim reality. The Asian looked at his friend's concerned look before concentrating on Rossi's displeased glare. He gave only a small frown and another bow of sincere apology as his answer.

"P...Please forgive me. I do not know what came over me."

He knew exactly what came over him and he knew Rossi knew too. It was fear; the shattering of a glass doll. The ropes that had bound their secrets were starting to come undone.

Rossi looked at Japan with a near-like sneer on his face. Kiku was a stranger so the care David had for him was on a minimal level, but seeing Japan react so oddly had been an interesting sight to see. Japan reacted so different from his 'normal' self in the presence of those keys. Those keys, Japan clutched so powerfully in his tiny fist, were what Rossi really cared about. They were important. Very important.

"Those keys are for evidence."

Kiku's mask cracked slightly.  
"These keys are none of your concern."

"What doors do they open?"

Another crack; it was like watching a porcelain doll fall from the shelf in slow motion.  
"Nothing."  
"So they're for decoration."

A moment of consideration and attempts to fix the cracks.  
"Yes. America-san enjoys fooling everyone."

"I don't believe you."

The mask cracked again and for a moment, Rossi thought he saw vulnerability spread over Japan's face like a wave of emotion. But it was gone before he could reach out and grasp it as Japan had begun steeling himself back up again.  
"No one ever said you had to."

There was a turn in the environment. It had begun to feel like the air was slowly being sucked out of the atmosphere and was leaving a putrid stale air in its wake; its revolting claws scratching at their throats, wishing with futile hopes that it would one day become breathable oxygen. The putrid air was screaming to be heard, but if the silent screams were ever heard by anyone, it would not be known for Japan only sneered; the ugly gesture foreign on his emotionless face.

In his eyes, there were no lost soldiers or an endless loneliness – only a small burning fire, burning slowly and tauntingly. The flames were growing higher as the environment started to grow more stale. The eyes were warning of what were to come if the imaginary boundary lines were to be crossed. They were warning that it was not in their best interest to cross that line.

"These keys pertain no interest to you. They are by no means 'evidence' in your search for America-san, but only a set of keys that holds the key to Alfred's most precious memories."

The fire went out and the sneer disappeared and the mask returned with no cracks in sight. Japan had once more sealed himself away to the public; beginning once more to be a prisoner in his lonely world.

"They are the key to the Room of Memories." He whispered and uncurled his fist, looking at the keys with a sad meaning.

"Room of Memories?"

"The Room of Memories is an accursed place, some would say. But some could also object and call it a sacred place. To me, it is both but not neither. It traps those who enter its threshold in an endless, tormenting waltz through the past. Welcome the room of lasts but fear the room of firsts. It is a room of firsts and a room of lasts for those stupid enough to cross its borders without being aware of its dangers."

Japan pocketed the set of keys before bowing to the team. "Greece-san and I must take our leave now. I trust you to be able to handle this all by yourselves?"

"We're not children," J.J. added in. "We've been in worse situations."

Japan nodded. "This is understandable, given your profession and life styles. Well then, it has been a pleasure meeting you all. Alfred-kun is so lucky to have such kind people to go looking for him." Japan had meant that. He had meant it was a sort of bitterness though as if he was jealous of America's people. He probably was. The Asian then looked towards them again. "I must warn you though – Time moves differently in this house. Sometimes, it is right on track. Sometimes, it is not. What may happen to one may never be experienced by another. Sometimes one thing will show up in one place when it has already been in the hands of others. _Sayanora."_

Japan then bowed and then left the room quickly, leaving Greece behind in his wake. The European blinked slowly at his friend's departure and looked to Rossi in apology.

"He normally doesn't...act like this. It must be the...stress." Greece gave a sleepy nod before he too, disappeared quickly.

They were alone then, the six of them. Rossi, Reid, Jennifer, David, Derek, Emily and Hotchner. Hotchner's eyes followed the departing Greek, nodded his good-bye and spoke in his solemn voice.  
"It is probably best to split up. How many floors are there?"

"I counted three." Emily answered. "This house is old as well, so he probably has a small crawlspace or a root cellar. No basement."

"I saw the entrance to the Root cellar outback." Derek said. "It appeared to have been locked for quite some time. I don't think we'll need to be going in there."

"There are also a lot of woods. Perhaps the kidnapper dragged him out through the forest?" Reid wondered.

Hotchner looked to the team, wondering how this was going to done the most successfully. "Possibly, but there is only six of us and the clock is ticking. One of us is going to be going into those woods and another is going to be partner-less. Who volunteers?"

Surprisingly, it was Jennifer who had raised her hand. Her experience with the woods has never really ended all that well, but she supposed she could give it another chance. Perhaps this time, there would not be rabid dogs and psychotic prepubescent redheads running muck inside those woods. Maybe she would get lucky this time. "I'll go."

Reid looked to his friend and then to Hotchner and Rossi. "Would...err, it be...quite all right with you all if I went alone?"

"To where?" Rossi replied in Aaron's stead. This was curious, Rossi found himself musing. Reid may have been the odd one out of the bunch but he never seemed to wonder off by himself. What brought this sudden change of doing things on? Was it the air? There was something, something within this house that was affecting their thought processes. Perhaps, just maybe, it was two worlds meeting one; the collaboration of the human world and the nation world.

"The Attic."

An odd place to go, but the request was appreciated. No one most likely wanted to make the two trips up those deadly curved stairs situated in Alfred's living room, let alone just going up one. Those stairs were creaky, narrow and small and looked like they could collapse at any moment.

"Then, Prentiss and I will take the second floor." Hotchner decided. "And Agent Rossi and Derek can have the first floor. After all, we don't want David to hurt himself going up those stairs."

Rossi was going to reply and was severely tempted to make a comment about Hotchner's own growing age, but he didn't and just clasped a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Very well. We'll meet back here, in say, two hours time? Report back then with whatever you have found – if you find anything at all."

The members of the team nodded and began to depart the room for the exception of David and Derek, who didn't exactly seem comfortable with the house at all. None of the other teams did either. The house gave an eerie feeling; as if it was watching them. It probably was watching them. Such an ability to spy on the members within the house seemed fitting for a house that belonged to a superpower after all.

"This house gives me the creeps."

"I know."

"There's something more here than memories isn't it?"

Agent Rossi looked to Derek with an odd frown. "We're profilers, not ghost-hunters. Now, are you man enough to look through the living room with me or is the prospect of there being ghosts around scare too much?"

The violent glare pointed back at him could have melted glaciers and possibly a human ice shield. "Hilarious. Let's just do this and get it over with."

"Whatever you say."

**{xxXX{III}XXxx}**

He ran his fingers together nervously, shaking slightly. This was a very poor idea. It seemed that Russia never seemed to think anything out any-more. Ever since his collapse...All rationality seemed to have gone with it.

They weren't supposed to be here. At least, not this house. This house was bad memories. This house was Alfred's childhood house. He only used it for business meetings now. New York was where they should of gone. It would have given Russia time to find him.

He can't believe it had been done though. Estonia had been right.

Lithuania shivered and nervously pulled at his fingers again.

This was a bad idea.

With a groan, Lithuania dropped the keys in the hole in the floor and awaited his doom.

**{xxXX{III}XXxx}**

While Derek and Rossi settled their differences in the trashed office of one of the world's most powerful superpowers, Prentiss, Reid and Hotchner were attempting to climb up the stairs without much noise or trouble. The stairs were thin, narrow and creaked with each step. With slow movements, all three trained FBI agents made it onto the second floor without much trouble and the two of the three agents were met with a cosy sort of den with a grey carpet and knotted walls with a fireplace and pictures covered the walls.

For Reid, unfortunately, he was met with another set of staircases which looked even more deadly than the last pressed up against the wall to their right.

"...I think I'm going to wait a bit." He told the others. Besides, it just didn't feel like the right _time _yet to make the trip up those stairs.

"How does this guy live?" Emily asked, checking her hand for splinters. "Those stairs could kill."

Once his own hand was free of splinters, Hotchner looked to Reid and then shook his head. "Attempt it anyway. There might be something up there. Papers, documents, files, photos – _something _that might lead us to whoever might actually want to harm Mr. Jones." He was treating Alfred a human, he knew that. It was desperate moments like this where they had to see him a human. They had to feel like he did, breathe like he does and see what he does from day to day. Perhaps, just perhaps, that the person who had taken him from his home was not a terrorist country come to wreak havoc and upset the country but perhaps someone else.

Someone with a grudge.

With a displeased face, Reid wiped his hands on his pants and started to go up the narrow, creaking flight of steps to the attic.

"All right. We have little time and perhaps a lot of ground to cover." Emily started, picking the last of splinters out of her hand. "There are five doors and a hallway leading around something but no door on this side, meaning there is a sixth door somewhere."

"The one on the far edge of the room seems to lead to a balcony and the door oppisite to the stairs has been left open slightly."

"Should we start there?"

"We should go down that hallway there. I think it's odd that the door isn't on this side with the rest of them. There's room for on either side of the staircase."

And that's what they did. The two agents stepped away from the open staircase and started down the hallway which was lined with odd memorabilia. There were black and white photos and Marilyn Monroe and Mr. Jones, a discoloured picture of a Dukes of Hazard car with Mr. Jones lazing about on the hood, Mr. Jones obnoxiously hugging a very disturbed looking John Lennon, an old picture of a sober Johnny Cash and Mr. Jones in a recording studio, Mr. Jones in a spacesuit grinning and giving an obnoxious thumbs-up, John Kennedy and Mr. Jones in the Oval Office, and the oddest one yet – Mr. Jones in a cowboy outfit riding a large bucking bull. The picture had been snapped so precisely so the moment of Mr. Jones being nearly flipped off the bull's broad back had been forever caught in time.

"Do you think these are all real?" Emily wondered. She reached out her hand to touch Alfred's smiling face in the Astronaut suit but something pulled her back and the agent dropped her hand.

"Yes." Hotchner looked at Jones lying about on the Dukes of Hazard's hood and looked to the front seat. Someone was there, sitting in the front seat and honking the horn furiously. For a moment, he thought it was just a trick of the light but someone was there, sitting in that front seat. In the discoloured photo, he picked out Arthur Kirkland – honking furiously from within the cab of the car to get Alfred off the hood of the orange car. Alfred, obviously, was not listening. "Yes, they are all real. Everything...Everything here is real."

"He seems to be very proud of his past."

"Historically or literally?"

"I guess...both. Makes me wonder though. Do all the nations care for their past? Do past wars with other nations influence their relationships with others? There's so much unknown about these...nations."

Aaron remembered how Rossi hold him within the almost darkness of the other's office that how France and England had acted with one another. England and France had always been known as the old couple of Europe; always fighting, always bickering, always yelling at one another and attempting to tell one another what to do. England and France had always fought – ever since the dawn of man. Whether it be with the celts or the Guals, the Angles or the Franks, the Queen's men or the King's children – the two people of England and France had always been fighting.

David had told Aaron that they had quite frankly – well, had acted like children. Even in the presence of others, they had both dropped their suave gentlemen ways and acted like little children and were moments away from biting and pulling at one another's hair. They had also been calling each other names.

"I think it does, but I think it also doesn't. Look at Alfred in this picture. That's England in the front seat. I think it all depends on who they are."

Emily nodded. "Good point. But we should keep going on."

"We should."

They both continued down the hall and turned left down the next hall and were met with an even odder sight. On the left side of the hall, there was a large portrait of two people on either side of the door. One was George Washington on the left side of the door and on the right was a far away shot of a beautiful Native American woman with a braid and a flower in her long jaded obsidian hair. On the right wall were two flags. Not hanging separately they were, instead they were torn in half and stitched together horribly. It was a United Kingdom flag and an American flag. They were both old, both torn in half and sown together with a thick, knotty black thread.

"That's odd." Emily said, stepping forward. "_Really _odd."

But Aaron was not paying attention to the odd two flags, even though it did demand attention; he was more interested in the door. A steel, metal door that looked like it had seen better days. Even though it appeared to have a horrible outlook, it looked impenetrable.

All was silent for a moment before Hotchner looked to his partner. "Do you think...?"

Emily looked at the door, her dark eyes being silent for her. "But it couldn't be...?"

"It has to be."

_The Room of Memories._

This had to be the place. There was no where else, they both knew that. It looked like a place where Alfred kept his most sacred things and it was in the perfect place – settled right in-between the memories of Alfred's life. It had to be it, this _had _to be the room of which they had all been banned to go. Japan's warning rang in his ears.

'_Welcome the room of lasts but fear the room of firsts. It is a room of firsts and a room of lasts for those stupid enough to cross its borders without being aware of its dangers._'

Emily tried the doorknob, jiggling it and sighed. "Japan has the keys. We can't get in."

"And we definitely can't kick this door in...It looks like someone has tried before us." He pointed to a thick indent just centimetres below the doorknob.

"Oh shoot it, or punch it, or blow it up, or burn it...Is that the imprint of a face?"

Hotchner leaned over and peered at what Emily was pointing at. It was. On the metal door, was the imprint of someone's face. As if they had head-butted it too hard or their face had been shoved into hard. The agent stood up and frowned. "We should keep going."

"But we've found the door..."

"And what would we open it with? Who is to say this is even the door? We're in the house of a nation. For all we know, beyond this door is a room full of American secrets even the government has not seen. Maybe that is why it is so beaten up. Someone has been attempting to get at the secrets more than once. There's a chance it isn't the Room at all."

Emily looked to the door and then to Hotch with a nod. "You're right. Come on, let's go. We've wasted enough time as it is."

They left behind the torn flags and the steal down and turned left again and went down another hallway. This hallway was bare. Completely and utterly bare. Nothing covered the walls, all except for a large, circular crack in the bare right wall. Like someone's head had been slammed into the wall with the force of six men.

"This hallway's empty." Aaron noted and then spotted the crack. "What do you think that's from?"

"I have no clue." Emily answered and found herself starting forward towards the crack. "There's something off about it. I know that much..."

Emily was used to odd things happening. It was something she really did get used to after becoming a profiler. But being in this house, being in its presence...It gave her an odd feeling. This feeling was more than a feeling of fear, for sometimes it felt like she was...safe. That she was safe in this house of mystery and history. The House of America would not collapse upon her and do its best to protect her.

"Emily, what are you doing?"

"I know what I'm doing..."

Prentiss stepped in front of the crack and for a moment, wondered what she really was doing. It was a hunch, and even though hunches in situations like this never went well, she was still going to go through with it. On a moment of brief bravery, the Agent reached out and touched the hole where someone's head had made contact.

And immediately regretted it.

"_Prentiss!"_

Jennifer knew she hated the woods for the reason.

There were often creepy things within them.

But this time, it was only herself in these woods. She was alone in the woods and a victim to her own mind now. It was slightly scary, but she was an adult.

Jennifer didn't know what brought her to the woods. It was something that just drew her here, like something had definitely drawn Reid to the Attic. There was something in this house, in this situation, that was affecting them all. Something was drawing them all to these places for some reason. Some reason she did not know and knew that she would never find out.

She sighed and took a breath of fresh air. Maybe she should have brought someone with her. The woods freaked her out. Maybe she was just paranoid. Maybe she was just that and only that. There was no something that drew her there, there was no 'magical' aura surrounding the house and land. There was only an old house with an immortal man living within.

Jennifer stopped in her tracks and sighed. She had a half of a mind to just turn around and go back to the house now, saying that there was nothing in these woods and that they were just that. Woods.

Halfway in turning around, something called out to her. She had barely a moment to turn around before she noticed what was coming straight at her.

A wild, snarling, foaming, seething with rage dog.

She hit the ground before the scream could even leave her mouth.

**{xxXX{III}XXxx}**

Emily felt like she was being dragged onto a bad acid trip.

The world was spinning around her, but her fingers stayed firm on the crack. The wall it was attached it was not spinning. It seemed like everything around her was spinning rapidly or just melting around her while it switched colours. It alternated from Red to blue, orange to green, to a suave blue and a grinning grey, before turning an ecstatic pink and a frowning purple, before finally settling on a poorly coloured version of reality. It was like she had stepped into a coloured television show from the early-eighties.

Or had taken an _extremely_ powerful and long hit of Salvia.

She had begun to hear voices. At first, they sounded like the chattering voices of disturbed bats or even bugs trapped in a jar. The voices were much like static in both her ears and it was impossible to hear herself think. Emily could not even process the situation because it had gotten so bad.

And then, much like someone, tuning into a radio – the voices had begun to get clearer.

Fragments, she could pull out slowly from the static. It was still terrible, but the voices were getting clearer and clearer with each moment. With each word spoken, there was an impressible amount of buzzing static that was lost.

"You stup–_AaafurriiiitchZZZZZ_–how could you–_accchSSSSSTIIIII_–were you even think–"

"–_Zcccccchsaaaitsssss _how can such a idiot as you_–suuuuuuushCAAAAAAAHURRR_ - thinking?"

"I can–_Stchaschaztchzzzz_–think! You know very well that I–_hurrrrrrrrrrrrrrdurrrrrrrrr."_

"Stupid American, you–_bzzzzzzcccccccch–_why are you always ruining my plans?"

"Because SHAAAAA_stiiiiich a _communist! Stupid communinist!"

"I hate _craaahsssssh _so much. Why do you exist?"

"I exist to make sure _zzzztch _don't run the planet!"

"Bite me, Amer _durrrrssssh _don't care for you games!"

"Games, Ivan? What Games?" Ivan. Ivan? She had heard that name before. Where had she heard that before? The name swirled around in her brain; attempting to find a place where it fit most. That name was common, but this person with this name was important. Very important. Important to this case, this place...

"Your silly mind games! You think you can defeat me, little _fredka_? I am the King."

"King? King of _aaaaabzzz _more like it!"

Emily was almost completely tuned in when she could feel the presence of two people finally come into sight. She turned her head the best she could to see who they were and were surprised to the see the one named Alfred and a tall, towering man wearing a reversed Soviet Union coat and a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. Alfred grunted and shoved the other and nearly slammed the man against the wall.

"You're so stupid!"

"Am I really?" Ivan countered; voice scarily calm as he regained his footing. "Are you sure you are not mistaking me for yourself, _lapushka. _After all, I expect nothing less of the creature who cannot even tell the difference between himself and his own brother."

Alfred said nothing, but instead glared furiously at the other. The other tilted his head with the innocence of a child. But he was not innocent. Those violet eyes spoke of terrors that no person could have escaped without some sort of scar. He smiled, the gesture spreading across his face slowly like a poison. His smile was poison, which was all Emily could describe it as. "Poor, little _idiot_. I feel sorry for your brother – to be stuck with such a person _as you_. How can you even live with yourself, knowing far well that this war in Vietnam will never work? Your brother has lost so much due to you. But it isn't like he had much to begin with."

"You shut up about Mattie right now, you communistic bag of scum!"

"Why should I shush my mouth? I speak no lies, why would I do that? I live to tell the truth, isn't that the role of all the nations? We must guide our people to better days! Drag our broken bodies through mud and blood to spread the so called word of our _Lord and almighty God!_ Who cares if this God has caused the destruction of so many people? So many religions? Oh, the sorrow I feel for your brother. I wonder whenever he looks in the mirror – does he see you instead of himself?"

Emily could see the fire burn within Alfred's normally placid blue eyes. He clenched his jaw, squeezed his eyes shut and shoved his glasses in the front pocket of his bomber's jacket – the very same one that was sitting back at the BAU.

"Take that back."

Ivan smiled his lethal smile again. "Why should I?"

"I said, _take it back_."

"Make _me._"

Alfred made a move to move and pounce on Ivan but he only stopped and glared at the Russian. "You aren't worth my time."

"Oh really? I seem to have been for the last thirty years. Isn't that right?"

"My government wanted to keep an eye on you." Alfred sneered. "They were right. You're nothing but a danger to the world around us and to yourself. You should have fallen with the Romanov's. They were the last true Russians of the Russian world. Not those Bolshevik liars you associated yourself with. They spread dirty lies and are nothing but liars. You should have fallen with your precious _Anyastasia."_

Emily gasped. She knew who this was. This, this was the man that everyone feared. The one who had broken into Rossi's office demanding that Alfred be returned and the one who had supposedly stolen Alfred himself. This man was none other than Ivan Braginsky, the so-called personification of the Russian Federation.

The crack must have brought her back in time. Not literally. She was witnessing what had occurred to have caused this mighty crack within the piny wall. Her fingers were still glued to it.

"You have a crossed a line."

"You crossed that same line when you brought up Canada." Alfred snapped back.

Ivan was visibly shaking and he looked angry. His violet eyes were flaring with hatred and his lethal smile had been replaced with an even deadlier frown. When he spoke, his voice was nothing but a whisper. "You shall pay for that, _lapushka._"

"With what?" Alfred let forth a booming, obnoxious laugh. "My life? Ivan, Ivan, silly little Ivan. You know as well as I do that a bullet straight through my brain won't kill me. And you cannot touch my government or my economy? What are you going to do? Rape me like you rape Toris?"

Emily expected Ivan to let loose his rage and completely go apeshit on America, but instead he lifted from his head from his scarf (where he had dropped it when Alfred had laughed) and stared at Alfred. With a shiver, she realised that he was staring right through Alfred.

"I'll tell."

"Tell what?"

"That you're hiding him?"

"Hiding who?"

Anger returned to the purple eyes. "Do not play dumb. I know that you are extremely good at it, but you do know what I'm talking about. I _will _tell."

"You promised."

"I also promised no biological warfare too."

"Bastard! Tony didn't do anything!"

Ivan sneered at America in response, and clasped his arms behind his broad back. "Stupid American. He deserves to go back to that Area 51 of yours. Of course, if you're not careful – it might just end up in my hands~"

"You aren't getting him!"

The Russian tilted his head innocently. "And who is to say that I cannot have him? I always, normally, get what I want. You have learned this yes?"

Suddenly, with the agility of a cat, Ivan dodged around Alfred and dove towards the hallway with the metal door. Was that where he was heading? He almost got far before Alfred reached out and grabbed his billowing scarf and pulled back with a mighty tug. The scarf snapped straight and Ivan lost his footing and fell onto his back. Alfred jumped on top of him, end of scarf in hand, and attempted to bind Russia's hands.

But the other would not have this and head-butted the other and knocked America flat on his back. Russia jumped up and attempted to bring down his boot, but was stopped before it could make impact. America pushed away the bloody boot and rolled over and jumped up. Ivan, expecting an attack, braced himself for impact.

"Must we really fight like children?" Ivan asked wearily.

"Yep." With sudden movement, Alfred bounced forward and grabbed Ivan's arm. The Russian attempted to pull away but was slammed onto his back; shaking the entire ground with the impact. Ivan grabbed Alfred's leg with his free arm and brought the American tumbling down upon him. He pushed Alfred off of him and scrambled back to his feet, pressing his back against the wall connecting the two hallways.

"Come on, Russia." Alfred cooed. "Fight like a man."

"I am. You're the one who has stolen the porcelain doll's techniques. Tell me, does he have burns?"

America growled and went to attack again. Ivan blocked and knocked Alfred back onto the floor. "You did not answer."

"That's none of your business." Alfred went for the scarf again, and Ivan attempted to block and Alfred's knee went up. The attack hit home and Ivan stumbled. The American shoved him down the hallway and knocked him down onto the ground with a fist to the face.

Emily strained her neck to see what was going on and stretched out as far as she could go without tugging on her fingers attached to the wall. She frowned and attempted to move closer, tugging on her trapped hand to allow herself. A finger came lose – the thumb – and she was stunned. The situation must be losing its power.

Ivan had been knocked down onto the floor in front of the two sown together flags. They must have been ripped far before this time.

"He has burns." Alfred answered. "And leukaemia. He's still dying, but he won't tell me. I found out from China."

"Shame." Russia answered with mock sympathy. "He was always so weak."

"He's not weak! He kicked your ass!"

"But drained his resources in the process." The Russian answered coolly. "We are all not without faults, dorogoy. All wars cost money."

"Not ours." America smirked. "Actually, I find myself becoming quite rich off of this."

"Bite me." Russia answered and pulled down the stitched together flags. They fell on top of America and the superpower and flailed and punched, attempting to get out of the situation. Ivan took this moment and grabbed America, running with him in arms and shoving him into the wall Emily was on.

Another finger came lose, this time the pinkie. Three to go.

America yelled and flung the flag off of him and head-butted Russia. The Slavic nation fell back, clutching his head and America shoved him towards Emily.

"It's hero time!" He yelled dramatically before charging at Russia like a bull. Russia was hit by the impact before he could even see it.

Ring finger. Two fingers left.

Russia bounced back though and shoved America back just as hard. Alfred stumbled and nearly fell before catching himself. He pulled out a gun, but Ivan knocked it out of his hand and shoved him face first against the wall opposite to Emily.

"I bet you like this." The Slavic whispered venomously. "You like to feel pain, to feel violated by others? The Revolutionary War, _lapuska. _I bet you just_ love_this."

"You know, when I suspected to have a Russian speak dirty to me – I at least expect them to be a woman!"

Index finger. One middle left.

"Oh you are so funny." Russia gripped Alfred's hair and pulled back his head, bearing the pale neck to the world. "So hilarious..."

"I crack myself up." Alfred told the other, slyly attempting to manoeuvre his hands from underneath the hand holding them down. Emily could see what would happen. Alfred would slip his hands out from underneath Ivan's and elbow him and knock him back some.

"Tell me Alfred," Ivan whispered. "Why do you think we feel sorrow? Why do you think we feel pain, love, joy and hate? What differences up from being human?"

"We have flesh and blood, but we do not die." America answered monotonously.

Ivan smiled and brought his lips down to Alfred's neck. "Shame, that really is. That no matter what we do to ourselves, we cannot die from it. I think it would be great to die. But not even a bullet can stop up. We are...how you say..._invincible_. But you did not answer my question. You never answer my question."

"I think...we're human. Everyone is human to a point – expect animals. Even murderers, and cannibals, they're human too. It's just people who think they have the right whether to say we are human or not. The human race hates itself."

"This is true." Ivan kissed Alfred's neck and Emily felt momentarily creeped out. It was like watching a bad porno. "But silly Alfred, everyone hates everyone. It is natural."

"Makes me wonder why we all just can't be nice."

"It just doesn't work out that way."

"Oh well!"

And as Emily predicted, Alfred slipped his hands away from underneath Russia's large skinny one and elbowed the nation in the solar plexus. Ivan fell back with a groan and turned away from America. The super nation took this as an invitation and jumped on Russia's back. Ivan let loose a curse in Russian and stumbled from both in pain and the weight of the other resting on his back.

Emily begun to attempt to pull her hand away from the wall in a moment of anguish. She didn't know how astral projection worked, but she had a feeling she really didn't want to be there when Mr. Jones' slammed Ivan's head into the wood. Russia stumbled towards her blindly, too busy with trying to get Alfred not to strangle him with his own scarf.

At last, she ripped away her last finger and the world begun to slightly twist and fade again. It did not change colours, but she could feel herself fading away; as if she was almost dying. Her eyes grew heavy and she grew woozy, swaying from side to side with the slowly twisting room. She could hear voices but they were not the obnoxious voice of America and the eerie purr of Russia.

"_How long has she been out?"_

"_Five minutes?"_

"_Oh dear, oh dear! England needs to stop leaving up wards!"_

"_What happened?"_

"_It doesn't – She's coming to!"_

"_Prentiss? Prentiss, can you hear me?"_

The last she saw before the normal world returned was Alfred jumping off of Russia and wrapping an arm around Russia's neck. He had gripped the soft platinum locks with the other hand. He let loose another obnoxious laugh before pushing Russia's head forward and sending it straight into the wood.

The laugh stuck with her the entire time.

"_Aaaaaaaaahahaaaaaha!"_

**{xxXX{III}XXxx}**

And as quickly as it had happened, the dog was ripped away from her with an agonizing wail. A quiet voice that she could barely make out over the whistling of the trees around her had begun to tsk in annoyance and snipe at the dog in low, sweet French.

Jennifer sat up in a daze, looking to the dog in confusion and then to the owner in a state of even more befuddlement. The dog was an overweight Golden Retriever with bright blue eyes, a spiked collar that had a pink leash attached to it and the boldest shade of gold fur she had ever seen. It rivalled the colour of sunflowers easily. The owner though was less noticeable though. He was small in size, but from how he was kneeling, Jennifer could tell that he was at least five-eight, maybe five-seven. His hair was the colour of woven wax and shined in the dull light that was peeking in through the tops of the trees. A stray curl jutted out in front of his face, landing evenly in the middle of his lilac eyes which were trapped behind a pair of oval-rounded glasses.

The eyes shaded that careful colour of lavender looked to her into confusion and the small mouth below it managed a small smile. "Sorry," The man offered in such a quiet voice that Jennifer had to strain to hear. "You okay?  
He was asking how she was. Jennifer looked over her shoulder to make sure no one else was going to pop out of the woods behind her before looking over the other before her with slight suspicion. His outerwear was not suitable for that of Virginia. He wore an Arctic Explorer coat with a furry hood, snow boots, tan gloves and ski goggles around his neck and he looked too much like…–

"_Alfred F. Jones_?"

What was he doing here of all places? Wasn't he missing? Wasn't his 'disappearance' the whole reason they were here and she was bumbling around in the woods in the first place? Why in the name of a God she barely believes in would he be skulking around his woods with his beast of a dog like an unruly creep in the first place? It wasn't like–

"Alfred" gave a long sigh that broke her concentration and dropped his head in soulful defeat and gave a low whine in an act of depression. He lifted his head and glared at the agent, shouting as long as he could in his quiet voice. "I'm not Alfred! I'm Can– Mathieu. Mathieu Williams."

"If you're not Alfred, then…Who the hell are you?"

"His brother." Mathieu stood up then and brushed off his soaked knees. "And this is his dog, Hero. Who of which is very sorry that she attacked you–isn't that right Hero?" The dog named Hero gave an obnoxious bark and wagged her thick tail. Jennifer still felt very wary, even thought the dog reeked of naïve stupidity. She had a feeling that the dog had a lot in common with its master.

"Alfred doesn't have a brother."

"Who told you that?"

She wasn't going to draw Arthur into this – no matter how much of an asshole he was. J.J. drew herself to her feet and looked to Mathieu with a stern frown. "Why should I tell you?"

"Well…" Mathieu attempted an awkward half-smile which looked lopsided on his pretty face. Jennifer felt a slight pang of jealously for a moment, but then shook the ridiculously of it away. "Is he short, blond, and has thick eyebrows? Is his name Arthur and does he act like a jerk but manages to still seem protective? Does he happen to adore tea?"

The agent pursed her lips, but did not speak.

"Does he…happen to be the personification of the United Kingdom?"

She gasped slightly before stealing herself back up again. "I'm not telling you, sir, as it is none of your business. Now, what are you doing here? This is a crime scene. Please leave the area at once."

"It's okay," Mathieu smiled and brought his gloved hands holding the pink leash to his small chest. "I'm one too, you know."

"...A nation?"

"Yes." Mathieu leaned over and petted the dog softly on the head. "Do you know which one I am?"

Jennifer wondered if the man was just insane, or playing coy. There were over one hundred fifty nations in the world and she only knew six. The man had to be playing with her. Was he a spy for another country? He looked too...innocent. That was probably a lie though; a well thought out disguise. In reality – he was probably a cruel motherfucker.

Sighing, she looked to the facts she had now. He was Alfred's brother (or so he said he was) and he spoke French. He looked French too – what with those eyes and honey woven hair. What nations with blond hair and violet-blue eyes spoke French? Not France – apparently France was much louder and far more obnoxious. It looked natural so all former French territories of Asia and Africa were out. He also knows Arthur, but how...?"

The answer came to her silently; suddenly.  
"Canada. You're Canada."

A large smile broke clear onto Mathieu's face.

* * *

Author's Notes:

FUCK IT.

You guys are getting a four-shot.

SEVEN THOUSAND WORDS

SEVEN

THOUSAND.

The last one was seven thousand words too. But I'M NOT EVEN DONE WITH THIS PART. THEY HAVEN'T MET RUSSIA YET /lesobu

Tiem to split it up bros and hoes. Wait another two weeks for the last part kay?

Maybe. I have regents. AT LEAST I'M WORKING ON IT.

Mistakes are mine. Could care less right now. /derp

Lapushka – little paw  
dorogoy – dear


	4. Dead

The Art of Insanity

It takes skill to be an agent, but only an artist can manage the true properties of Insanity.

Sun Tzu said: that the art of war is a vital importance to the state. It is a matter of life and death, a road either to safety, or to ruin.

* * *

The smile that broke out on Mathieu's feminine face was the biggest one Jennifer had ever seen. Maybe it was because her job did not offer laughs and smiles, but the fact that the other was very pleased with her guess meant something.

"Oui!" Was his positive response but it soon ebbed away into confusion. "But...Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

"I told you my biggest secret," Canada said with a slight smile. "You could do me the same honour. Now, tell me, are you Jennifer Jareau of the BAU?"

The agent in question did not make indication that Canada's guess had indeed been correct but Canada knew he was right anyway. "You're here to find Alfred aren't you?"

"Yes."

"I wish you good luck." The endearment was murmured. "Especially with all your obstacles..."

"What?"

"Ehhhhh! Nothing!" Ahahaha...Say, what do you know so far about nations?"

She did not know herself. There had not been enough time and she really did not want to tell him what she 'knew'. What did she know anyway? Maybe she could possibly get something important out of him for her answer?

"Nothing." It was not a lie, nor was it the truth.

"So I guess we're all even eh? I don't know anything either."

Was he enough of a fool to lie to her? She did not know. "What? But you're–"

"–A nation, yes. But it doesn't exactly mean I know anything myself you know. We are...difficult people. We all speak different languages but all understand one another. We do not die – our bodies can survive fire, biological warfare, famine, drought and a bullet to the face. We are the embodiment of our people. We are the embodiment of our country. The land in which we own is what sculpts our human bodies. You have not felt pain until you have been invaded." The comment was uttered in a light tone but it darkly shown what he did not say. His lilac eyes glittered. "The pride of our people is important though, for pride is technically what keeps up going...And our government of course but that isn't the case for some. Even the oldest of us..."

Mathieu was silent for a moment before he sighed. "Even we cannot escape death though. It all comes at some point. We'll all eventually fall and collapse, whether this collapse be the collapse of our minds, our government or our country. Germania, Rome, Savoy, Holy Roman Empire, Ancient Greece, Golden Horde. All gone – or living on the presence of their children."

"...Why are you telling me all this? Why now of all times?"

Mathieu laughed – a quiet laugh that obviously has not seen much use. "I dunno really. Something says to me that you're helpful and trustworthy. Oh – and French. That might help too."

"Why?"

"Again, I dunno. But good luck in finding Al! He owes me forty bucks in his currency and I'll be damned if I let him disappear without paying it."

And then, with a wave, Canada and Hero were gone as quickly as they had arrived; leaving J.J trapped in the woods.

"...Son of a bitch!"

* * *

Spencer had climbed the stairs.

And he had hated every moment of it.

Eventually, though, he had made it to a wooden landing that of course – had seen better days. It looked eerie and odd and completely dangerous. Why did he come up here again?

Oh yeah – that feeling.

It still hadn't gone away.

The landing was slanted but thankfully was not long at all. It took only a few moments to race towards the end of the place and reach the door. But before he could reach the door, something fell onto his head.

He let out a involuntary shriek and immediately shoved it off – thinking it had been a grotesque spider that had been introduced to some sort of mutation but once his hand hit metal he knew he had been wrong. The set of keys that had fallen onto his head fell on the floor and skittered across the floor. He dove for them as they skittered towards a suspicious hole in the creaky floorboards.

Reid just caught them before they fell into a dark abyss of nothingness.

He sat up on his knees and inspected the keys in the dim light of the hallway. They weren't that big but there were about six keys. Two of them looked like they could be never used again, a third was fake and the other two he had no idea were for. Maybe they were for the attic door – He stopped.

Reid took another long look at the keys. There was something about these keys that were different. What was it? He jingled them in his long tapered fingers. These keys–

His mind flashed back to earlier. Japan had said...

That was impossible.

These couldn't be the keys.

But...

"_I must warn you though – Time moves differently in this house. Sometimes, it is right on track. Sometimes, it is not. What may happen to one may never be experienced by another. Sometimes one thing will show up in one place when it has already been in the hands of others. Sayanora."_

Maybe they were the keys.

Spencer was actually happy for time paradoxes for once.

He got up and brushed off his knees and walked carefully to the door. He tried each key once, the broken ones first and then the right ones. The fifth key fit snug and the door opened and Spencer found himself walking into a room that was fit for a child of six.

The walls were white and the ceiling was painted to look like the space. The carpet was an obnoxious green and was covered in stuff and barely seen. Two French doors were located at the back of the room and Alfred's bed lay snug in the corner. His bed was shaped like a hamburger – with a sesame seed bun cover, two pickle pillows, a a cheese under blanket, mustard and ketchup sheets, a hamburger mattress and a bottom bun box spring.

He knew though.

Spencer knew the moment that he had entered this room, via those mysterious keys that had oddly ended up in his hands, that the room was obviously just more than a room. It was a Room of Memories. It was a room of firsts, a room of lasts, a room of fights, a room of love. It was also a bedroom. It was the bedroom of the not so-mysterious Alfred F. Jones.

From the bed with its colourful design and half the blankets and sheets tumbling onto the floor as if purposely done to the floor that was covered in books and films and plans to even the walls that displayed multiple bands and games, it was not hard to tell that Alfred obviously spent very much time in this room. At least, he used to as now a fine layer of dust covered everything. Even the finely made oak French doors that were situated at the very back of room were covered with two colonial American flags seemed to be covered in dust.

The doors seemed to have a power to them for Reid found himself being drawn towards them with a feeling of overwhelming curiosity. They had begun to hum and were attempting to draw him in closer and closer, to have his long fingers wrap around their fine handles, and push open the doors to see what hides within. He took a few steps, hesitantly before stopping completely.

He could not.  
Spencer refused to see what hid behind those two doors. Obviously, whatever it was, was very personal to Alfred. Is that what Japan had meant, that there really was such a thing within the room of lasts and firsts that would lead people to their end? Was this end, madness?

It was a room for nations. Humans had no right to trespass through its borders.

It seems to be, that with Alfred gone, everything that made the room a reality had disappeared as well. The windows were untouched, the carpet lay unseen and credits rolled on America's television, telling of who portrayed in the movie.

Spencer walked forward but stopped and swiftly turned around. The door slammed shut behind him and the desk that was neatly tucked into the corner of the room was revealed to him. How America could survive with such a small working place was beyond him but that truly did not matter. What did matter though, out of all, was the man sitting at the desk.

He knew this man. He had met this man before.

And he had known that he had never wanted to meet this man again.

"_Ivan Braginsky_." Spencer whispered. For a moment, he expected Russia to whip around and grin that mocking sadistic grin that he was far too well known by. But instead he only continued to sit at Alfred's desk, as if almost lost in memories and ignorant to Reid's presence. He had laid his arm down on Alfred's place of work and rested his head upon it. His eerie violet eyes were trained on something spinning. It was spinning fast and for a moment the agent did not realise that it was a spinning globe. Ivan was touching the globe; his long lithe fingers masked by the black leather gloves brushing against the spinning object.

Suddenly, Russia's fingers clenched and the world stopped spinning. He sat up, still hunched over and peered unseeingly at the globe before turning up to look at Reid with a dazed expression.

"I thought he had burned this."

Cold, eerie, the voice fitting for a psychotic murderer.

"Along with my flag." Russia's fingers fell from the country it had stopped upon.

"Сою́з Сове́тских Социалисти́ческих Респу́блик," Russia read solemnly.

_The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics._

"The Soviet Union."

"Yes." The man answered and laid his head back down.

"Why are you here?" Reid made sure that his voice was strong and did not falter. He had to keep Ivan preoccupied. Maybe he could call in back-up–

"It shall not work. Your back-up would not survive the trip, as some may come to say. They would make it here, but they would see nothing. Alfred's house hides from the world and is only open to those who it wants. My silly little Alfred has always been paranoid, always he has been this way. He knows he cannot hide from me, even if his house wants to. I am a friend – whether Alfred wants to admit it or not."

Spencer froze for a moment, wondering how Russia had known of his plan to call for back-up. Perhaps nations were also gifted with the ability to mind-read? He was not sure, but this left him without a plan. He was without a plan and was in a room with a psychopath. This was not an excellent situation. "...What? Russia, what are you doing here?"

"I am visiting." He answered, voice calm. His eyes showed nothing.

"Visiting who?"

"The dead."

Spencer's lips felt oddly dry so he ran his tongue over them in an attempt to calm himself down. This was odd. This was very odd. But that was normal wasn't it? He was used to working in such odd situations. But nations? Humans that were the guardians of countries more or less? How many of them existed? Did this go for states as well? His mind ran wild with all the possibilities that a nations' existence could hold. How many people knew? Would they be murdered for their knowledge?

He thought back to when he was first reminded of all of this; when he was called into the office that one moment and before he was nearly murdered by the cynical Kirkland.

_There was some silence before Rossi spoke again. The man leaned back in his chair and sighed. "I was visited by Ivan Braginsky last night."_

_"H-How did he get in the building?" Reid had met Ivan. And just to say, Ivan gave him the creeps._

_"I personally don't know...But he did tell me something. Something that I'm still finding hard to believe. And I researched it all night last night. And I'm horribly afraid to say that what Braginsky told me was correct and if Braginsky does not get what he wants within the time limit then what he predicted will most indefinitely occur."_

_"What did he tell you?"_

_Rossi grimaced again. "Can you keep a secret, Reid?"_

_"Well, I can, but considering the severity of my job and the people I deal with; there is not telling what will happen if I am forced under extreme interrogation again so I suppose–"_

_"Can you was my question, Spencer."_

_"Oh yeah...Yes, I can."_

_"Good," The profiler leaned back in his chair and picked up a nearby file. "Now, Alfred F. Jones is no ordinary FBI agent. And nor has he ever been. From the records, it says that Alfred has been enrolled as a junior agent since 1900–"_

_"But that was over–"_

_"–Which leads to the fact that I have discovered that Alfred is not a regular human. Alfred F. Jones is the living embodiment, or the human personification of the United States of America."_

Thinking about it, he was never told that what Ivan had wanted with America. Given the recent history between that of Russia and America, it is assumable that America had done something to invoke an inhuman rage within the Russian. He must of stolen something. But what? Government plans? Girlfriends? Boyfriends? Cooking recipes? His mind reeled with the possibilities. He looked to Russia and his vacant look at the globe, his free hand fingering the pale expanse of his neck that bore scars of an ancient time. That was odd, wasn't Russia normally wearing a sca–

Reid stopped, eyes widening. America wouldn't stoop that low would he?

Upon thinking of it, he realised that yes, America would stoop that low. Now, the United States of America was not a horrible country and in fact was still one of the better ones out there but who wouldn't want to get one up on an old enemy? Ivan was notorious for his scarf. Alfred saw an opportunity and took it.

Ivan sat up and leaned back in the chair. "And so in a moment of glory, the white Queen checkmates the Black King after the loss of his last pawn."

"Russia–"

"Ivan. I would rather prefer it if we kept it a human level."

"Well, er...Ivan. Did...America steal your scarf?"

There was no pause, no rolling of words or slow purring that Russia was so well known for. "Da."

"Is there any reason?"

"There is a reason for everything, da? But as far as I know – it was a joke, a harmless prank in attempts to get one over me. It went horribly awry though as most of his plans do. Why just look at his war with the Middle East! The fool never learns!"

He had to word this carefully, lest he end up with a stomach full of lead. "Did anyone else know that he had your scarf?"

"I can't say!" The Russian laughed. "No, I really can't. After finding that my precious scarf had been thieved away, I most likely drank whatever liquor I had left in my cabinet, destroyed my living room and probably went to Lithuania's house and trashed his as well. Wait," He lifted a gloved a finger in thought. "Maybe it was Estonia's? He never gets any love compared to my dear Latvia and Lithuania. Mmm...Wait, no. It was Poland's. And seeing as Moscow is still as it is, he did not invoke his Warsaw law...Or was it Serbia...Livonia? But Livonia's been dead for years..." Did Russia make a habit to visit all his previously occupied territories while drunk?

But, here was the kicker now. Ivan seemed to be in a good mood. Maybe he could get away with a bullet in the kneecap this time?

"Well, Rus- Ivan –"

"Aha! It was Bulgaria's house I trashed. I knew it was one of them. But yes, what is it Reid?"

_Rephrase, does Russia make a habit of destroying his previously occupied territories' homes? _"Um...Would...Would you...ever..."

"I know that your interaction with humans is impressively minimum but I would expect that you would be able to manage to speak complete sentences in this ah...what is it...this bastardised form of English that America has taught his children?"

Spencer breathed through his nose and sighed. Here it was. Now or ever.

"Would you ever send someone to hurt America for stealing your scarf?"

Once the sentence hit the air, Ivan's eyes darkened considerably and Reid knew that he just signed his own death warrant with his own soon to be split blood.

Ivan laughed. And laughed. And laughed. And laughed until Reid could hearing nothing but the maddening sound. His dark laughter invaded the air like a fragmented note split from a broken instrument. The sound of a broken violin strumming its last dying lines. It bounced off the walls and poisoned the air. Russia laughed and laughed until there was a sickening _'splat_' and it cut off abruptly.

Spencer looked down and felt his breakfast make another ill-wanted appearance. An organ that could only be classified being a heart by its twisted valves and rampant veins and magenta-red colour had hit the floor. Ivan looked stunned and peered down, the mocking grin replaced only by a wide open mouth of surprise.

"It hasn't done that in awhile."

"Wh-What...?"

"This is my heart, Mr. Reid." Russia leaned down and carefully cupped the organ in his hands. "Lately, it has not...'made a scene' and has not fallen out. I suppose it is because I am in some sort of stage of healing, da...?" The last was more of muttered to himself but Spencer heard it anyway. "Oh well! Best to put it back where it belongs, yes?"

It would have been a lie if Spencer said that he had not watched Russia return the heart to its resting place. He watched it with a sick fascination of how Russia had brought the heart to his lips and bestowed the gentlest of kissings before brushing it off with a shiver that racked his entire being. He had then brought it to the obvious hole in the right half of his body that was shaped as one of those cartoon hearts. It was fascinating of how nations destroyed any thought of actual logic. There should not be a hole in his coat shaped as a heart, there should not even be a whole in his coat or body! Ivan's heart should stay in its body, attached to the various valves and pumping blood through the being to keep it functioning. It should not fall out. _Ever_.

But he wasn't given time to voice his obvious confusion and quell the amount of hysteria that was slowly building up in him because what else is expected from the fact that he's _locked in a room with a belligerent fucking _**psychopath** _who defies physics and anatomy. _Instead, he was faced with the reality that Ivan had stood up and had slammed him against a wall. A pin that was holding up a signed poster of _The Beatles _that read _Live on Alfred _dug uncomfortably into his back.

"You think I hurt Alfred?"

"No, I im–"

"Implication is the same as assumption. You assume, don't you? It makes an ass out of you and me doesn't it? You implied that I sent someone to hurt my precious now didn't you? _Didn't_ you?"

The moment of madness and the squeezing of his arms that would most likely leave bruises left the agent speechless. His eyes were wide as he stared up into Ivan's who would only stared back with his darkened eyes and wild smile. It were the eyes that got him the most though.

His eyes. They were not blank like he had originally saw. Something pulled him towards those mauve twins set so deep in Ivan's face. They were like a whirlpool; spinning endlessly and dragging the tortured farther in. He could imagine what Ivan was seeing. His ill-attempt to make a pact with the moon, his rage over losing his precious scarf, the loss of an important person, the loss of his livelihood. He could see it all in Ivan's eyes. Then suddenly, they closed and Ivan sighed.

"I did not hurt America." He mumbled and stepped away. "I would not do such a thing to him. He is undeserving of it no matter what others says and how stupid he is."

"Then who–"

"Someone who thinks that their interference will spur my emotions more towards them."

This could only mean one thing. "Then...You _know_?"

His reply was uttered. "Unfortunately."

"Then, why don't you _do _something?"

When Ivan looked at him again, his gaze looked utterly tortured. "Because...I _can't_. I promised never to harm them! I can't...I can't!"

"So you would _let _your 'comrade in arms' be _killed _by this person?"

"Never." He whispered. "No matter how much I hate Alfred at times he does not deserve to be so mercilessly slaughtered by someone that is undeserving of such a thing. If he is to die, then he is to die by my or England's hands."

"Why England's?"

"He owes the both of us quite a lot. For obvious reasons as well. It would be fit death for a hero if he was killed by the very man he loved most. But that's under the implication that nations can be killed of course."

Spencer's eyes went wide. "You can't die?"

"When one implies immortality, they _do _mean it. We cannot die. We can contract cancer, get the plague, be shot in the temple at point-blank range with a sawed off shotgun. We will live. As long as our people will it, we will live."

"Then why are you worried for America if he can't die?"

Moments of silence before Russia mumbled the words. "Because he will break. He will break like the glass doll he is. He will tumble from his great height and hit the floor with such a emphasis that the whole world will shutter from its impact. His body will continue to heal itself after each assault as does Prometheus's each night after he is tore open by the eagle, but his mind will shatter if this goes on."

"But that doesn't make any sense." Spencer interjected. "You're _nations_. You're built to withstand stuff as this aren't you? War, torture, famine. Alfred should be fine, shouldn't he?"

"Silly human." Ivan responded. "One who does feel our pain is one who cannot understand it. Nations are human. They are human. We are our people aren't we? We are 'humans'. Only puppets in a cast. However, we break. I broke, Lithuania broke, France broke and England slowly as time catches up with him and the fact that he no longer is considered important in world affairs slowly gets to him. Though, we are all slowly making our way up the treacherous ravine we dove off of. Except for America. When America breaks at last and his masks shatters across the globe, he will not make the climb back up. Humans break and so do nations. And it's surprising that he has lasted this long anyway."

Reid's lips felt dry again. "And the unsub knows this all don't they? They know that America is unstable right now due to everything. They know that it won't take much to push him over that edge." With Ivan's blank look, he pressed on. "That means they're a nation too. They're doing this to...to...prove a point." His mind reeled and he thought of only moments ago. "They're doing this for _you_. They're doing this to _prove _themselves to you. They...They think that if they _break _America they will have essentially _broken _you! With the shattering of him, you will finally fall victim to whomever!" The thought hit home. "To get you, they need to destroy whatever is in their path. This...this is your fault!"

Something broke in Ivan's face. "I told them not too! I told them that they should mind their own business!"

"You know them! You can stop them!"

"I can't!"

"Yes you can!"

"_Nyet!_"

"You're Russia!"

"_Nyet, nyet, nyet!"_

_ "_You can stop them! You can be the one that save Ameri–" Spencer's words were choked short as Ivan's hand wrapped around his throat and he leaned closer.

"I cannot save America." Ivan growled in a thick voice. "That is why I have employed the use of you and your comrades."

He raised his head in an attempt to talk clearly. "You're a...superpower...Who wouldn't...back down to you?"

Ivan did not answer. "Tell me, Reid," He said softly. "Do you have siblings?"

Spencer shook his head.

"Suppose you did. Suppose your sibling kidnapped probably the only person who never saw you for a monster. And suppose the only way to get this person back was to hurt your sibling. What would you do then? Would you hurt them and save the day or get someone else to do it?"

"I...I don't know."

"You're in my situation then. My promise with the moon has failed and I have been forced to bring in the others. I cannot bear to hurt my own sister, however mad she has become. I cannot bear to hurt the person who comforted me in the times of my own insanity. It hurts more because I cannot do the same. Being Nations are a bad thing sometimes. When your government is on bad terms with another, you cannot see that nation. Even if it is your sibling."

A crack in their seemingly perfect but maddening world.

Ivan dropped his fingers and stepped away.

"I knew I have picked the right one," He was saying suddenly. "You are just perfect. You are my catalyst, da? The final piece I need to castle my dear Alfred in. He is my King you know, and I am but a simple pawn that has outlived its golden stage."

Then with a wave, Russia was gone. He had disappeared so suddenly and quickly it was a wonder if he had even been there in the first place. Spencer closed his eyes and rubbed his throat. He ached.

But fuck, that had been a horrible experience. He really should have brought someone with him– His eyes widened. How long has he been here? What about the others?

He stumbled to his feet and began to rush out of the Room of Memories, feeling the dead scrape at his back. Spencer stumbled to the door and nearly fell, catching himself on the frame. Something cracked beneath his feet and he wondered if he had dropped his glasses before blinking and remembering that he didn't wear glasses. He bent down and reached into his back pocket to take out a glove before he picked up a now bent pair of glasses with one lens completely shattered and the other cracked. A note was taped to the side.

His heart stopped for a moment before he shook his head and ripped the note off. His eyes skimmed its tresses slightly before the real shock of it slowly set in.

There on the note was the familiar bleeding red ink and the thick graceful cursive of a foreign man.

"_He cannot see. You must be his eyes. Guide him from the dark place in which he is kept."_

Spencer had found the third clue.

**{xxXX{IV}XXxx}**

When she came to, she saw green.

It was the prettiest shade of green.

So bright, so colourful. So charismatic. But there was something darker to this green. As if it had seen the unseen horrors of the world and had lived to tell the world. This green was a survivor. It had lived through a dark past and had been trapped in a dark world at some point.

Then she realised they were eyes.

A nation's eyes.

He pulled away, smiling. His green eyes attempted to hide his dark past and brightened up at the sight of her. His thick hair was pulled back into a ponytail and he wore a velvet vest, shirt and dress pants.

"Oh good! You are awake!" He had an accent. She knew that accent. It was Baltic. Lithuanian.

"Emily? Emily, are you all right?"

The woman sat up, moving to rub her head when he recoiled at the movement. She looked down to her right hand to see it was wrapped tightly. Had she done something to it? Her memory was fuzzy. She can't seem to quite right remember what happened–

"You burned it." The stranger clarified, taking the bandaged hand gently and readjusting the clasp that kept the bandages in place. "I appeared right after you touched the wall. Do you know what happened?"

Wall? When did she make a habit of randomly touching walls? Where was she? Who was this man? To answer her unsaid questions, she turned to Hotchner. "What happened, Hotch? Did...I pass out?"

For a moment, his face looked grim. Didn't it always? Her memory was fuzzy. "You don't remember?"

"A...little. We're here for...special people? They- They're...countries?"

"Nations, yes. But which one in specifics?"

"I can – I can't rem- America." She cut off so suddenly, the name suddenly slipping into her sentence. "We're here for America. Alfred. Mr. Jones...We're here for him."

"Your name is Emily, yes?" The man asked and she nodded silently. "My name is Toris. I'm an old friend of Alfred's. You're here for evidence of his disappearance aren't you? You see – Mr. Hotchner, would you like me to explain what happened?"

"It would be nice, yes."

"Well all right." The man nodded and smiled again. "You see Emily. You went back in time."

"That's impossible."

"Some people disagree, I know. But can you listen to me for a moment? You know what Quantum physics are right? And how the general theory revolves around the general idea that yes, it might be possible to be in two places at the same time? To vibrate while not vibrating at the same time? This somewhat involves this. You went back almost thirty-forty years ago while you also stayed here. You mimicked the same actions of whatever you did back then."

She flushed. That had to have been embarrassing.

"Well...For some reason...It happened. I... do not know why."

Emily frowned. "Why is my hand burnt then?"

"Well...What I'm guessing is that when you separated the link when you were in the past you created some sort of...intense friction. It burnt your hand. And since you weren't some sort of astral projection and it was _you_, you brought your burnt hand back to the future. Of course, this kinda goes against the idea of Quantum Physics as well though but it's the general idea of it all...Do you remember anything?"

She wanted to answer positively. She wanted to remember. She had just experienced something no one else had experienced. But her mind was so fuzzy; so unclear. She thought and thought; biting her lip in concentration. Something, something about the Cold War. Two men in arms? A secret hidden behind locked doors. Russia...It involves Russia. And America. Something about them fighting–

She stopped.

Fighting.

They had been fighting.

Cold War tensions. A hidden agenda.

There was a buzz in her ear – static. It was as if something was slowly making its way back to her. She wanted to yell in frustration. War, war, something hidden! Nuclear warefare? No, it was something. Someone. Smash, smash, whee! _Ahahah – _

_"You aren't worth my time."_

_"Oh really? I seem to have been for the last thirty years. Isn't that right?"_

She gasped. Memories were floating back to her; slamming so violently into her memory banks once more that she could have screamed in pain. But she didn't. She bared with it, knowing that it would be worth it in the end.

_"–Bastard! Tony didn't do anything!–" _

_"–And who is to say that I cannot have him? I always, normally, get what I want. You have learned this yes?–" _

_"–I bet you like this. You like to feel pain, to feel violated by others? The Revolutionary War, lapuska. I bet you just love this–"_

_"–You know, when I suspected to have a Russian speak dirty to me – I at least expect them to be a woman!–"_

Emily remembered now. She remembered it all now. The sneers, the growls and the ever sickening smiles. America's laughter rang sickeningly in her ears. But however, one thing really stuck to her. She could not forget it. She would not forget for some reason. It would haunt her for a long time.

_"And who is to say that I cannot have him? I always, normally, get what I want. You have learned this yes?" _

There was dead silence. It seemed that Emily had uttered those damned words aloud. Toris seemed to mumble something in his own language and laughed. But it was fake laughter. He seemed a natural at doing such a thing; laughing so falsely as he did at that moment. She saw more insight into this Baltic man's life. It looked bleak.

"That sounds so like...so like...so like–"

"Russia?"

"Y-yes."

"Who _are _you?"

Toris laughed falsely again and Emily glared. "I'm Tor–"

"You're a nation."

Toris went silent. He dropped his head.

"You're Lithuania aren't you?"

Toris was still silent but it was not soon after Emily had muttered that that Toris lifted up his head and laughed awkwardly. "You're a smart one aren't you?" He laughed. "I should have been a bit more careful. To be honest, you were never even supposed to meet me."

"Then why are you here?"

"This house plays tricks." Lithuania answered simply. "I've learned to deal with it but however, there are some instances were even I get caught up in it..." The man sighed sadly. "I was supposed to stay in the background but the house made it that I was walking in on your accident instead of walking into the kitchen. Truly, it wanted us to meet. For what reason I'm sure I'll never know!"

Emily pondered this. "Do...Do you know why the house is like this?"

"I really have no idea." Toris answered honestly. "Some of the others says it was England and his settlers that caused this. Their magic and voodoo or something. But I really just think that the house is just the way it is because it wants to be. Some things are just better off left unanswered, don't you agree?"

The agent found that she couldn't agree more.

"Mr. Lithuania," Hotchner suddenly voiced and the Baltic turned with a curious look. "Do you work for Russia?"

The expression on Lithuania's face froze in its motion before dwindling down into a look of sheer terror. Those bright green eyes shrunk and he laughed awkwardly. The man was attempting to hide something. Something terrible.

"Of course not! I'm here to help find America!"

A half-lie. He was here for more. He was here to help Russia.

"Really? Then why do your body movements say something else?"

"T-They do?" Toris tried laughing off the idea but it failed.

"They say you're lying."

"That's just preposterous_–_"

_ Slam, slam, creeeeeeeeeeeak!, Slam, Slam! Creeeeeeeeeeeak!_

They all jumped – Lithuania giving a small squeak as well – as Derek finally made it into the landing after climbing the treacherous stairs. He looked slightly worse for wear.

It took a moment, but he finally spoke.

"It's Russia. He's been caught. He's at the B.A.U.!"

**{xxXX{IV}XXxx}**

As soon as they all got back to Headquarters, Rossi immediately took off to see if the rumours were true. They were. Russia was there. He was sitting calmly in one of the interrogation rooms. They told Rossi that they were given orders to not search Russia. After being nearly talked out of it by Hotchner, Rossi went into the room and had a stare down with Russia.

Russia won of course.

"What is Alfred to you? Is he a toy? Is he a small child that you wish to destroy? What is your relationship with your former rival?"

Russia only answered with a cryptic message. "Alfred is nothing but everything. The small promise that had been exchanged in the dark is the only reason that I live. When the long night ends though, there's nothing behind me. There's only a large ocean between us and a cliff that we still both teeter over."

"Do you enjoy speaking in tongues?"

"I do it when I can. But there are often not many people to visit me in my lonely home. Some people just do not want to visit the heart of Russia!"

"Moscow?"

Russia laughed. "Moscow was the heart a very long time ago. Now it only serves as my lungs to allow me to breathe my so-called freedom. I live in Perm. Perm is the _true _heart of Russia, even though Saint Petersberg comes a very close second in my book."

David narrowed his eyes. The nation was playing with him. Russia's hands twitched with the anticipation into making him a living, breathing marionette at last. "What's your game Russia?"

"Hockey. Though I do prefer Figure-skating from time to time." David resisted the urge to backhand the nation and pushed the disturbing image of the grown man in spandex from his mind.

"You're _up _to something."

"You know, America said those exact same words to me many a decade ago, though I'm having trouble recalling it. I think it was either the situation when I had him pinned in a back alleyway or when his gun was inspecting if my gag reflex was up to par."

Rossi felt like a vein was going to burst. "You.."

"Me..."

He slapped his forehead. This was getting them nowhere.

* * *

Two hours later, did Russia finally say something of value.

"You're my only hope."

The words uttered so carefully almost went unheard. Russia seemed to have muttered them unconsciously. When Rossi lifted his bent head and stared wide-eyed at the nation, the other finally seemed to realise that he had muttered something he was not supposed to.

"We're your what?"

"Last hope." He muttered again before speaking louder. "I have never liked the interference of humans–"

"None of the nations do apparently."

"Well that's understandable." Russia answered and leaned back in his chair. He looked even more human than before with his wide purple eyes and childish smile. "But it is mostly because they have what we want. Humanity is what most nations strive for. That's why we take on the characteristics of our people – to get as human as we possibly can before we are stopped by the metre long wall that separates us. But listen here, da? I need you to do what I cannot not. I understand now that you are really not regular 'agents' or people of the 'law'. But you are the most intelligent."

He was liking where this was going. "Go on."

"You have all discovered that I play a very big part in this. A very big part, yes? You have discovered that I am more than a mindless killing machine and possess feelings of some magnitude for a person I once claimed to hate quite so. I still hate the man, but I now begun to understand him as our governments grow closer. But now he is threatened by someone most dearest to me. While I cannot touch her, _you _can. You can sneak in and take my Alfred away from...her and I will...deal with the consequences." He was barely able to conceal his shutter of fright.

"You want us to do the dirty work?" Rossi summed up and Ivan nodded slightly to show that he was indeed correct in his assumption. "You want us to send armed forces into some undisclosed location to save some superpower because you can simply not harm the person doing it? You wish to risk the lives of others to save someone who can most likely save themselves? This Alfred you describe seems capable of being able to handle himself! As biased as this sounds, you are a _nation_. You should be able to handle another _nation_. You do not need human interference."

"It...It's not like that." Russia mumbled, eyes wide with turmoil. "I do not wish to see anyone get hurt but–"

"But what? Mother Russia can't handle his sister?"

"She's–"

"Mad? Insane?"

"No, she's simply confused–"

"So confused that she would kidnap someone for you?"

"I didn't ask her too!"

"Oh really!"

"Da!"

"I don't believe you. Come on, Braginsky. We know that Cold War tensions still run high – especially with America's bouncing economy." Rossi would be lying if he said he wasn't having fun antagonizing the largest nation in the world. "You were given a final chance to destroy the enemy, a chance you were stripped of on December 30th, 1991. You could have brought the world to its _knees _with the destruction of the United States of _Ameri–"_

There was a large screech as Russia's chair flew back and he stood up slamming his hands on the table. He swore violently in his mother tongue, his head bobbing with the action before he silenced himself and grabbed Rossi's shirt with his fist and dragged him halfway over the table. They seemed to end up in this position quite often.

"You do not _understand_." Russia emphasised. "You will _never _understand, as you are human. Humans cannot understand the pain of a nation as nations cannot really understand the pain of a lone human. _You have not felt pain until you've been _**invaded.** _Point_, I need _you _all to save Alfred. Before he shatters and breaks like a glass doll thrown into a blazing flame. Do not make me think I have made the wrong choice in picking you."

"Where is he then?" Rossi asked calmly. He seemed to be completely at ease with the fact that he has slowly drowning in Ivan's angered gaze. "If you want us to save your _pwecious Alfwed_, then where he is? We don't go hunting the dead after all."

Ivan smiled and realised him from his grip. And Rossi immediately knew that this smile was different than all the others. It was a jokers grin, etched perfectly onto his alabaster skin but it did not reach his eyes. A lone snaggletooth could be seen slightly but it was not noticeable. It was the smile of a nation and its message was clear. _I can't take a step forward. You must be my Knights, yes?_

"It's simple. You have already been there. You are familiar with the Room of Memories, da?"

That time, Rossi _did _backhand Russia across the face.

The sickening sound echoed across the room. Rossi felt stunned for doing it. Had he...Had he just completely lost all rational reasoning and his demeanour? Did he just _slap _a nation across the face? _One with nuclear arms as well_? Well fuck, this wasn't good.

"Did you...just slap me comrade?" Ivan asked, as stunned as Rossi as well. Nimble fingers reached up to touch the pink spot and they danced slightly on the spot. Then, before his very eyes, Ivan closed his eyes and the pink spot faded away from sight. "How strange. I would have never seen in you to have slapped a person before. Even if they are being exceptionally restless."

Rossi stepped back. "I'm sorry...But we have better things to talk about. The Room of Memories. What do you mean?"

"The Room of Memories is Alfred's most sacred place. What better way is there to break someone? Ripping all of their safeties away. He's being destroyed in the place he's loved most. Besides," Ivan rolled his eyes, "do you think that they would have made it out of Alfred's house alive?"

"...I don't know."

"As odd enough as this is to say, the house likes it. It has not had human touch in a very long time. Not since Alfred was back in his colonial days. It is very pleased to see that America's people are going to save him when it cannot."

"What, is it a robotic house or something?"

"More like a persona." Russia shrugged. "I do not know myself. It is the first house I have ever see do such a thing like that on its own. Even China, the eldest of us all that has not been replaced, has never seen such a thing occur. He blames it on the fact that America is young and spirited and carries oddity wherever he roams. I, myself, think it is just some wondering ghost that took some liking to Alfred and haunted his home. Not that we'd ever tell him that of course."

Rossi raised an eyebrow, thinking back to all those horror films that Alfred had used to build a fort in his living room. A large percentage of them had been about ghosts. "Don't tell me...He's afraid of ghosts?"

"Da! Silly isn't it? I was very amused to find that out myself but I have promised to keep it a secret as he has promised to keep my secret secret as well."

Rossi was about to question about that but Ivan sighed. "We're off track. You _must _find Alfred before it is too late. And it will be too late much sooner than you would think."

"But..._Where _are we going to find America?"

Ivan smiled again but it was much calmer. "Ask Mr. Reid. He has visited the Room of Memories and lived to tell the tale. The dead will point him towards the direction you need to go."

"That _still _doesn't give me much to go _on –"_

"Do not worry." Ivan answered. "You will be fine once you wake up."

"That doesn't make sen–"

When the meaning of the nation's words finally hit, Ivan already had his pipe out and was swinging at his face. The last thing he saw was what he was _damned _sure was the spreading of a pure, _maddening _grin over the Russian's face.

"Спокойной Ночи, my bishop. _Kolkolkol."_

**{xxXX{IV}XXxx}**

Rossi woke to the fact that Russia had escaped and in his wake, had left a note. Obviously, this was the fourth clue into finding where ever this mysterious female sibling of Russia had hidden the superpower of the United States of America.

"_You are my pieces and we need to band together. I am but a pawn that has outlived its use. Follow me to the Fool's Palace and pay one last trip to the Last Room. Our adventure ends there and hopefully in checkmate. _Удачи!"

"Fool's Palace?"

"Mr. Jones' house." Rossi answered, holding an icepack to the place where Russia had hit him spot on. "He wants us to go back to the house. I don't see _why he couldn't have told us _in the first place though."

"Why though?" Emily asked. She was still wary about the antsy Lithuanian. "We found nothing there but those glasses and that Russia had been hiding out there!"

"Because he said it was in the Room of Memories." The agent answered roughly. "He said something about that the best way to break someone is to do it in a place where they're most safe. According to just about everyone, this happens to be the Room of Memories."

Spencer frowned. "That's not possible. I was in there and even though the place is trashed, there isn't any sign of human life there. Even the doors in the back looked untouched."

"Doors?" Emily asked and turned to Jennifer. "Did he have a balcony?"

"None that I saw of."

Spencer pursed his lips. "That could mean...Well, we were told that the house worked in odd ways. Do you think those doors led somewhere other than some closet?"

"Russia mentioned something about Alfred's house in Virginia being the only house that has ever showed behaviours like this." Rossi answered. "Alfred is in the Room of Memories. Just in an off-part that's somewhere else in the hous–"

"The door!" Emily interrupted and turned to Aaron. "That steel door! That has to be where he's kept!"

"Steel door?" Rossi echoed.

"On the second floor," Emily explained. "It's in the report. It looked heavily barred. And there's several bullet holes, fire burns, stabbing wounds...The door is impenetrable."

"It would take hours to break down." Aaron explained. "And it would make noise. Unfortunately, a lot of noise. It would be in our better interest to go through those doors Reid spoke about. Were they locked Reid?"

"Um, not from what I could tell really. But I do have the set of keys still. I bagged them for evidence. Strangely enough, I still don't know how they came into my possession...Falling from the ceiling and all..."

Rossi sat up and removed the icepack from his bruising face. "This means only one thing then. A roadtrip back to the place of morons. You know something? I see you guys all too often. After this, I'm going on a damned vacation."

**{xxXX{IV}XXxx}**

The hour was up and they were back at the house. The doors opened at their slightest touch. Derek led the team inside while Rossi lingered back to whisper his commands to the forces he had been supplied with – _Don't go inside, - need permission- wait for my order – _before making his own way back into the house.

This time however – the house seemed forlorn. As if it was wallowing in a state of blank darkness. But he didn't linger long on the first floor before he crossed over to the rickety stairways and manoeuvred his way to the top. He caught up with the rest of his team at the top.

"Reid, do you have the keys?" The agent nodded and moved to hand them over but Rossi stopped him. "No. They were given to you for a reason. Which key is which?" The young man nodded and pulled them out of his pocket.

He didn't say anything as he stepped forward and unlocked the room with one of the keys. Ducking his head under the now drooping door-frame, the genius stepped into the room which had fallen into an even worse state of decay. The colourful colours had lost their shine and dust was everywhere. Except for the back of the room where the two French doors were swung wide open.

Reid stopped before them and expected to turn around and see Russia sitting in the desk at the corner. He did so and Russia wasn't there. He faced the wide open doors again.

He had only been here hours ago but it felt much longer – much, _much _longer. The room seemed to be fading into the dead colours of black and white as all life seemed to drain from it. Truly, it was disturbing to see such a sight.

And even more so disturbing to know that that room would die without their help. If they didn't save Alfred, didn't stop him from taking a graceful swan-dive over and into the ravine Ivan spoke so hopelessly about then all would be lost. The house and all its treasures would fade into nothingness and the world would cease to go on. Alfred would gone and America would only be hollow.

He doesn't want to think of the consequences if they do not make it in time. He knew that the results would be disastrous. The world would shutter at their mistake. And Ivan's promises of their own downfall would surely be made a possibility.

A hand fell on his shoulder and he turned to see Jennifer. She smiled knowingly at him and then her face faded back into a façade of seriousness. "Is this it?" The curiosity can't be withheld from her voice.

"Yes. This..." Reid fumbled for his words for a moment. Would it be considered the discovery of Alfred's most precious memories or simply just the discovery of the Room of Memories? "This...is the Room of Memories."

"If he's been down here the whole time, then why were we warned to stay away from this place?" Derek asked.

"Maybe they never knew." Emily offered.

"No, they knew." Reid answered. "They just didn't want Alfred to be saved."

There was silence but Rossi broke it quickly with the slight _tap _of his shoes as he made his own way to the front. The man turned to look at his team and nodded.

"Prepare yourselves." He warned. "Because I have no idea what we're getting ourselves into."

And so they opened the doors before them.

The French doors swung open wide, revealing a set of stone steps before them that plunged deep into the earth like a stairway to Hell. The walls beside them were lined with black candles that flickered weakly.

"This has to defy something." Reid muttered. "The possibility of such candles and such a staircase actually coexisting as this are impossible and if it even _leads _to that hidden room–" The genius was giving himself a headache.

"Let's just go." Derek drew his gun and started his way down the steps first. Not long after, the rest followed with a grim determination.

The stairs stretched on forever. It was as if it was mocking them. The farther they walked, the farther the steps went. The farther they went, the narrower the stairs got. The team walked on for what felt like eternity.

This had to be the punishment for the damned. This had to be. For what else creature should be submitted to such a torture other than this? To forever walk down these stairs thinking that you will one day reach the end. You never will. There is no end to these stairs. These stairs would be their end for they could not stop. Their feet would never stop moving down the stairs. They would walk on forever wouldn't they? Like a poor imitation of Sisyphus and his boulder.

The final test of the house and they were failing it. Failing it terribly in their pursuit to save a man whose very being was the cause for all their troubles.

Then before they realised it, the stairs grew smaller, narrower as they walked further down into the earth until only person could be in front at a time. This took a long time but they kept on walking even though their legs ached. Why were they doing this? Why? Was their combined desire to catch this maddened nation that strong?

"Look at the walls!" Jennifer whispered, gasping at what she saw scrawled all over the walls. Black, thick and angry writing covered the wall as they descended further into the depths of the world. Words so angry, so vile, so destructive covered the stone walls. Had it been there before? There was no time to go back and check. They were in crucial time.

I hate Arthur _I hate Arthur_** I hate Arthur, **_In_**to **my **we**_b sa_id** the **_sp_**id**_**e**_r to _th_**e **_**fly. WHY CAN'T ANYTHING GO MY WAY**_

_**I HATE ARTHUR I HATE ARTHUR I HATE ARTHUR **__My boy became hardy and booooold, __His spirit was buoyant and freeeeeee; And, as I grew thoughtful and old, Was loud and oppressive to meeeeeeee._

_SavE me pleASE. _

Why can't we all get along–

**why is madness so delicious**

_Something slender comes this way_

**Russia is a tool russia is a tool russia is a tool why cant people love me for me why am I so hated why am I so hated why am I so hated**

Oh god why can't anything go my way? That didn't need to happen. Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god. I can't breathe.

**WHY AM I NOT THE HERO.**

_Save me_

_save me_

_save me_

_save me_

_save me_

_save me_

_save me_

_I just want everything to go back to normal_

**Fuck I want a burger.**

"I can't tell where any of this is from." Emily said. "It looks too recent and too old to really tell. But it sounds angry all together."

"Do you think America wrote this?" Aaron asked, peering at the walls as they descended further. The bottom was nearing. Soon the final moment would arrive and they would have to be prepared.

"Without a doubt." Rossi answered. "Without a doubt, all of this we're in right now is probably a result of Alfred's own twisted imagination as his situation grows worse."

"We better hurry then."

"Well, obviously."

They increased their pace and soon their efforts paid off as they reached the end of what seemed to be the never ending staircase. They came to what appeared to be a large stone hallway with bricked walls and a floor covered in a soft velvet material. Torches lined the walls. Three doors came to their attention. One in the front, and one to the left and right of them.

"Time to split up I guess." Reid offered.

"But we don't know where they'll lead." Derek reminded. "They might lead us somewhere that won't be beneficial."

"The house has helped us this far hasn't it?"

"Derek and Emily you take the one to the left. Jennifer and Hotchner to the right. Reid, we're going straight. If _any _of you reach the surface with your door, make sure you call for back up got it?"

The team nodded. "Then all right. It's time to get this crap over with."

* * *

David stormed into the room, his gun drawn and was met with an all too familiar face. Russia turned and raised his hands with a smiling face.

"Zdrastvooyte," Russia greeted. "I see you have followed my hints yes?"

"Russia, put your hands on your hand and turn the_ fuck_ around."

"Oh my, so pushy aren't you Mr. Agent?" Russia teased. "Quite, fine. I shall put my hands on my head and we shall pretend that you will handcuff me and take me away like the bad man I am. Though truly, you must not get out much because when others tell me that they're going to handcuff me they're normally wearing leather and wielding a whip..."

"I'm giving you to the count of _three, _Ivan!"

"Oh? Are we playing a counting game! I want to start! Odin, Dva, Tri, Cheytire, Pyat–!"

The agent's patience was lost. Before the situation could differ and Russia could dodge, Rossi shot at Russia. He didn't care that he had shot a nation; he did not care if he had just fired a killing bullet. The nation stumbled, falling backwards and slipping down the wall. His face seem to twist in pain and he clutched his left shoulder. The man laughed quietly.

"You missed my lung comrade." Ivan whispered in a demented voice. It seemed to slither over the walls like ice. "Were you aiming to kill or were you only trying to get me to shut up?"

"Either works," was his only answer. Reid shifted slightly.

"I see now that you are not one for games." Russia mumbled, his voice growing weaker. The bullet seemed to take some sort of effect. "My mistake. I always make the assumption that everyone is the same as me. My...bad."

"That's wonderful. Now, where is your sister?"

Russia's face tightened. "I...Don't know. I just arrived. I don't know where she is!" The edge of hysteria present in Russia's voice was nothing to be taken lightly. He was trying to hide something. "She's not here! She's not here!"

"That's a lie and we both know it Russia."

"Please, please, you _have to understand!" _He sounded terrible. So weak. Such a proud man torn back down to the bottom from which he had climbed up from so many times. A true monster in the shell of a human body. "You must listen to me! It...It isn't her! It isn't the right one!"

"Not your sister?" Rossi muttered. "Do you mean that it's someone else? Someone more dangerous? Braginsky–"

Russia seemed to not hear him. Instead, he struggled to his knees and let out a painful wail. For a moment, it looked as if he was crying. A grown man. Crying. A nation at that as well.

An utter paradox seemed to be unfolding before them all.

Russia was then talking; gibbering in his native tongue. His violet eyes were so wide and terrified. They roamed around the room as if looking for the invisible shadows that was stalking him. Reid seemed to lose some of the grip on his gun but quickly fixed it.

There was a slam nearby and Russia turned so quickly that it was impossible to think that he had only been injured moments before. His coat was still stained with blood.

He backed up and was mumbling in his quick Russian. Rossi wished Emily to be for here for translation but soon realised that whatever Ivan was whispering was not meant to be here.

He hit the wall and slumped again. The whispering stopped.

"At last..." Ivan grinned with a hoarse voice. "The promise to my moon as been filled."

And then, out from the door Ivan had just backed away from, came Alfred with the most terrified look he had ever had on his face.

* * *

AN:

_Don't even say a word._

Because yes, I realise this is horrible and terrible and whatnot. Yeah, the tidbit about Quantum Physics in there is kinda bs but I really do love physics (EventhoughI'mterribleatmathOTL) but I'm going to finish it anyhow because I bloody well can. It's my last fic guys. TheEvilMuffinToaster is hanging up her apron after this.

Love you all~


	5. Going

The Art of Insanity V

"_A folded flag.  
A purple heart.  
A family all but torn apart.  
And I fought with courage to preserve not my way of life but yours_ _Carry on; don't mind me. All I gave was everything and yet you ask me for more._ _Fought your fight, bought your light._ _In return I lost my life._ _What purpose does this serve?__" – _Survivor Guilt by Rise Against

* * *

Alfred's look of terror immediately turned into a look of perplexity at the sight of Russia. His mouth flapped for words as his eyes weaved around the room in a fit of paranoia. He was looking for something. Something he feared.

"Russia," He gasped with a thick voice. "Oh fuck, Russia. Oh _fuck_. She came out of nowhere! Nowhere man! _Nowhere_! I was just all chillin' in my office and...and...and! It's not her! It's not Belarus!"

"I know." Russia whispered.

"And I can't stop her." Alfred slurred. "I can't stop her. I can't stop her. _I can't stop her_. And you know this don't you? Why are you here, Braginsky? Have you come to shove it in my face that I've been forced to my knees by someone I had thought as a close friend? _Well, _you pathetic, snivelling child of man! _Why is your sister doing this? Why can't I _**stop **_her–"_

"Mr. Jones?"

The voice of Rossi cut Alfred short. The nation stopped in his ramblings and turned violently. He was listening. If only for a moment or so, he was listening.

"I'm an agent sent from the F.B.I.."Rossi started slowly, "My associate and I have been employed to retrieve you." He was inching closer to the blond; fingers stretched forward as if he was approaching a foreign cat. "The whole home is surrounded. You're safe now–"

He was cut off abruptly by a sudden string of mocking laughter.

"I'm_ safe_? I will _never _be safe. This whole world is unsafe. There is nothing left to be considered safe now. All has been destroyed." Alfred snorted the last part before his handsome face fell into slow confusion. "Who...Who the hell are you?"

"They're here to save you." Ivan clarified and America went stock still. His face morphed into something ugly and foreign and he scoffed. "Bull_shit_. I'm the hero, goddamnit. The hero _does not need saving_! I am the spandex-wearing superhero from the thriving city and I can damnwell save myself. So – gtfo."

From the sneer on his face, one would have never guessed that he had been seconds away from breaking down from unending paranoia only moments ago. David found himself somewhat stunned by the arrogant brat's rebuttal. This...This was the bane of Europe? This was the Great United States of America; the colony that forced the British Empire to its knees? Was he nothing more than a two-faced beast like the rest of his kind?

The creature before him almost utterly responsible for the downfall of the world economy was nothing more than a pigheaded nineteen year old with a slight weight problem.

_**No.**_

No, there had to be more. There had to be more to this sudden attitude. What was it? Was it because Alfred could not bear the thought of being saved by something other than himself or was it the fact that he was human?

On a habit, he leaned closer.

He was wrong.

Alfred was more than that. He was scared wasn't he? Frightened. Frightened of whatever his captor had done to him. Frightened of what was to come. Frightened of being unable to escape it all. And most of all, he was scared; he was scared of breaking into a million pieces like the thousands before him. He didn't want to shatter. He didn't want to just utterly break like a glass doll or come apart like a million threads tearing themselves apart.

"Arrogant." Russia sneered. His accented voice shattered the fragile atmosphere. "Pigheaded fool, Haven't you the simplest gratitude for them? They've risked their _lives _for you. To save you, _their so-called hero. _Their nation."

"As if you're one to talk about being something you're not! Acting so big and _tooooough_ to the rest of the world while in the real reality you piss your pants every time your sister comes into the vicinity!"

Russia's eyes narrowed considerably; the violet slits glinting menacingly in the low lighting. "As do you, don't you _comrade–_" The Arctic Nation froze in his word. He had made a rare mistake. And a very dangerous one as well.

"Oh _fuck_." Alfred's voice darkened with fear. His psuedo-manly attitude evaporated immediately. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh _fuck me_! She's still here. Russia, you _fucktard_, _why the fuck are you still here_. Get your fat ass in gear and back to the Sovietfuckland. Oh fuck, oh fuuuu–"

"No, no, no, America. You're okay. You're going to be okay, all right?"

Russia was bombing his self-acclaimed job in trying to keep Mr. Jones calm. Reid, even though he lacked normal human communication skills, lowered his fun and stepped forward with a hand raised.

"Mr. Jones, we're from the B.A.U–"

"B.A.U.? Alfred asked quietly. Reid nodded.

"The Bureau–"

"I know what it is. But um...Does Jason Gideon still work there?"

Reid shook his head sadly. "He...left due to some personal problems, Mr. America."

"I heard something had happened but I wasn't sure so I didn't–" Alfred's face suddenly drained of colour. "Did...Didya just call me America?"

Reid's face was one of confusion. He seemed dumbfounded at Alfred's reaction to his own title. Hadn't they already mentioned that they were from the Agency and that they knew who he was?  
"That's who you are right? The United States of America?"

But Alfred does not reply. Instead, he turned furiously to Russia and spoke. His voice waned to a higher screech of paranoia with every word.

"You told them? You told _humans_? You told told! Don't you _of all people know what happens to humans that know our secret!" _

_ "_Yes. I did." The Russian answered calmly before his own eyes go wide. "But you have to realise that there was no one else! England, France, Germany, China – _fuck_, even Finland – Spain, the Scandinavians, Portugal! No one wanted to help you my friend. It was only me and the moon. They wanted to see you _break_."

It was silence. Pure ghastly silence that hung dead in the air. There wasn't even a dying reverent to scratch and rip at their ears. Just silence. Eventually, America spoke up but his voice lacked a spark of life that normally came attached.

"What about Japan?"

"He too, but... He went farther than the others."

"...How so?" There was a strangled look that danced in Alfred's eyes from what Rossi could see. It was as if America did not believe the once-enemy's passionate words that spoke of the betrayal of his friends but also as if he could not believe it.

"He...attempted to thwart your rescue."

America chuckled awkwardly. "Kiku...Kiku wouldn't do that! We're bros!" Suddenly, his voice took a dive. His voice sounded cracked and stunted when he spoke next. "We're best...friends! _Right_?"

"He did it." Russia's own tone was ruthless. "He attempted and had nearly succeeded until Toris discovered the spare set of keys hidden behind the spices in your kitchen cupboard."

"You know, I always did wonder where that set went...But...But Russia, man come on. You have to be pulling my leg! It...It can't be true! It's, it's Kiku! He doesn't hold – well maybe he does, but I'm his bes – wait but aren't I more of a pain in the ass...? What...What the –" America cut his own-self short once more and went stock-still.

"Is something–"

"Shh, you fatass! Can't you hear it?"

Russia only frowned and began to listen. Then, his face went utterly white.

"O-Oh fuck." America whispered. He grabbed at his own hair violently and closed his eyes shut tightly. "It's her! It's her! Holy fuck, she's back. _She's back_. Russia, _Russia_, you need to..._Get the fuck out of here!"_

"I can't do that comrade." Ivan answered. "I made a pact with the moon that I would not abandon you."

"What? _What, what, whaaaat_? You gave your undying loyalty to a piece of rock stuck in earth's orbit? _Ivan_, this is fucking life or death here! Your sister will murder the both of us!"

Before Russia could answer, the two agents heard the sound that had sent Alfred into such a state of tizzy. It was an odd sound. The sound of...The sound of...Bouncing Balls?

"Do you hear that Reid?"

"What do you think it is?"

Rossi grimaced. "I really don't want to know."

"Alfred, you must calm down!" The sound of bone breaking was heard and Russia howled. Alfred shoved Russia and the Arctic nation flailed for support. He traipsed backwards and collided with Reid, sending them both to the floor in a heap of flailing appendages.

"What was that for?" David hissed to the nation.

America turned to him. His blue eyes are not bright and he cocked his head to the side.

"You've been tricked into this haven't you?" Alfred asked and the agent doesn't even get a moment to reply before Alfred scowled. "People seem to not realise that all is not as it seems. They're not going to break me."

"Even if you're scared of the person who seems to be doing this to you?"

His face morphed for a moment but then it stayed apathetic.

"Like I said. They're not gonna break me. _Come at me bro."_

He's like a child – this nation. Was he dealing with a possible case of split personality as well? He was so righteous at times and yet so uncontrolled at others. What was fuelling him. What was making his brain tick? David has so many questions to ask; so many ideas as to how this all was working out. But when he opened his mouth, America brought a tanned, shaking appendage to his quivering lips and turned his attention to the slightly ajar door he had come out of.

_Boing, boing._

_ Boing, boing._

_ Boing, boing._

_ Boing, _BOING.

BOING, BOING.

BOING –

_Creeeeeeeeeeak._

The ajar door was pushed open and a face peered through in a curious fashion.

"Alfred..." The woman cooed, pushing the door open farther and stepping in. "Little Alfred, have you brought _guests_?"

She was a tall gorgeous beauty with a well sculpted form and chest. She had platinum blonde hair and a big nose. What stood out the most though was her eyes. They were a shade of violet – the same shade of Russia's.

She walked forward with a twirl of grace in her step.

"Alfred, Alfred, I've come to play and you're too busy! Oh my, do I have to _punish _you?" Her rough hands suddenly dart out for the American–

Rossi immediately intercepted. "I'm afraid I can't let you harm Mr. Jones no matter how pathetic he supposedly is."

A pale eyebrow had risen as the woman stepped forward calmly. She folded her hands in front of herself and rocked back and forth on her heels. "Oh, are you his friends? His government come to save the day? Oh Alfred! Oh little Alfred! All this time you've been telling me you'd save yourself from me! Oh little Alfred, you _lied!_"

"I did not lie!" He sneered. "I don't lie Ukraine! I didn't ask for this! It was your damn brother!"

Ukraine laughed violently. "_Vanya_? Vanya has done nothing! Vanya is better than you will ever be! It is your fault that Vanya is the way he is! It is your fault he is still climbing up that cliff from which he fell nearly a century ago! You are a liar, Alfred F. Jones!"

"I am a country built upon my truths of my grandfathers! I do not lie! I cannot lie! It is not within my very soul to lie! I will save myself Ukraine because I am not worthy of anything else! Ukraine, I am not a liar! If _anything, _it is you who is the liar here!"

"You _dare _to imply that I would do such a thing! You _insolent __**brat–**_"

"Miss Braginsky! Calm yourself! There are much better ways to go about this!"

Ukraine turned upon Rossi with such a fierce look in her eye that she could have melted all the permafrost present in her brother's land.

"No, there are not! He is an insult to nations! He is an insult to our world! You do not understand! He has to be punished! He is _not one of us!"_

The room was silent except for Alfred's haggard breathing. Rossi sneaked a look at Russia to see nothing but the silent wall of ice that Russian had become.

"He is not one of us." Ukraine muttered darkly. "He is new world. He is of no right, of no grant, to butt into the affairs of the old. It does not matter if can help us out of our times of need. If we fall, then we fall! We do not need the hand of the New World shoved into our faces."

"You could have _said something_." America glowered. "I respect people and their pride! If you didn't want my help then you could have said so! But _I don't control my government_."

"You're America." Ukraine said in a happy voice. "You're the United States of America. Of course, you run the country! You are at the seat of the decisions they make, of the lives they destroy. You are the trophy of ivory they hold high all over the world! Of course you run your country!"

"Don't you watch my news? Like hell I run my country. It's true I'm only a trophy they flaunt all over but it is that only. I'm just a caged bird high up on a pedestal bro." The nation answered with a smile but it was sad. His shoulders slumped. "I don't run the country. I'm not _special _enough. I'm not mindless enough or weak enough to dance down to the Republican way. If I don't bend this way and that, then I am nothing but a poster boy for the world...But Ukraine. You actually think I have a decision in who runs the government! Obama may be democratic, but with the way those Republicans slave him over it's a wonder who really fucking runs this country. Like the _fucking tea par__ty. They make me want to punch turtles in the face. _Seriously man. You don't know how fucking proud I am of myself for being able to hold back from punching Michelle Bachmann in the goddamn face."

"But, but, but, _but_," She tsked in her sweet voice, "you extended your hand and I took it. Do you know what I got in return? Nothing. I only got farther away from my precious brother. The brother that has been corrupted by your very touch." Her sleek fingers reached out to brush Russia's cheek but the Slavic nation shied away from the motion. Almost as if he had been burned.

"I _tried_. I tried to get you accepted! I tried you to be seen as a lone nation by the rest of the world! But my government can only do so much! _I _can only do so much! I want to have more control, but we're not swimming in the riches of the past! Please Ukraine! I would erase the past to get you to understand but...!"

"But what? There is nothing more you can do? Silly Amerika. There is so much more you can do, yes? You are the hero aren't you? _You can pay with your life_."

Russia coughed, grabbing Ukraine's attention. The big-eyed nation looked over to her silent brother. "Yes? Russia, do you have something to say?"

"Syestra," He whispered. "Stop it."

"Why should I stop it! He is getting what he deserves!"

"But he is also getting an end no one deserves!"

Ukraine scoffed. "He's New World. He hasn't felt the pain we have. The famine we have. The winter, the heat, the suffering of our people! Does he receive the luxuries just because of his lack of past! He deserves to crack, to break and suffer just like the rest of us!"

"No one deserves that, Sister! I would not wish that on any of my worst enemies! Not even stupid America is worthy of such an end! He is not ready to break! He is too fragile; he holds too much a grasp on the world! With his collapse, we will be sent back into the dark ages! Sister, it will be the Collapse of the Western half all over again. Europe is so fragile as it is. It's a glass ball that hangs suspended over fire. Only so long until the pressure is too much and it shatters!" Russia seemed to shake at the thought. "Sister, my dear sister, You have to understand that we are not young. We are not strong. We are old with brittle bones and souls. A collapse will send us spiralling into a dark, dark world that we will surely not survive!"

The Slavic woman went silent with her thoughts. Rossi didn't move. He felt so helpless here. So useless. What was he even doing here? He wanted to know. Why had Russia involved them personally? Was it not because he could fight his sister or was it only because he wanted his scarf back? The violet eyed man seemed to keep himself from crying. The Slavic was on the near verge of collapse.

It was sad watching this. But, he was growing tired of his current situation. Obviously if they waited any longer they would probably be forced to watch America be rampantly hurt by the angered Slavic woman and they too would probably meet a similar fate and might perhaps witness the breakdown of an already unstable man.

They had to do something. All they needed was an opportunity.

"Don't we want the dark ages back though?" Ukraine asked. Russia did not answer. "Don't tell me you don't pay attention to what a fuss the nations of Europe get into whenever America leaves the room?"

"I really don't like to pay attention to the fusses that get their knickers into knots. I would rather spend my time imagining squishing their faces beneath the heel of my boot and slowly extracting their organs while they writhe in endless pain."

"How can you not know, brother. You want it as much as the rest of them!"

"World War II?"

"The days when we were strong brother! The days when we could conquer without fear! Our glory days!" She shrieked. Her voice radiated madness. "We were so brave back then! So valiant and bold! But now only bravery is a mask and invasion is a threat to 'world peace'! Such a thing will never exist! Europeans are born to fight! Not to sit behind a desk and drink from little tea cups. _He _ruined our ways. Our culture! It is of no importance to be Russian, Ukrainian, English, Danish, Nordic or even French in this day and age! It's all _American, American, American!_ What does it _matter _to be French. What does it _matter _to be Danish. There is no pride! There is no love for the country! There are no wars to fight in, there are no places to conquer! And it is because of _him_. It is because of him and his godforsaken country! He was England's downfall and his brother was France's lost cause. Spain and Portugal suffered from their revolting Southern World, you were suffering under the rule of your decaying leaders and the Nordics slowly drove themselves apart! He killed our world; he killed our ways! He has committed the ultimate atrocity and he deserves to be punished for it!"

"Sister, he's just–"

"_He is not one of us_." Ukraine whispered. "He is not a nation. He is a faulty hoax of what a nation should not be. He and all the rest and their _New World_. You only helped those who benefited you and destroyed those mocked and endangered you. Little people like myself and my sister are of no importance to _you_."

"I care for the little guys! Some of them are my best buds! Ukraine, _Ukraine_, why are you doing this! You _know _I care for the little guy! Everyone in this godforsaken world deserves to be treated the same even if I'm not given that treatment myself!"

"You have helped no one but yourself America!"

"That's...That's not true!"

Suddenly, so suddenly, the Slavic woman hissed and slapped Alfred hard across the face and he was sent sprawling. He groaned weakly and grit his teeth. Anger flashed in his blue eyes as Ukraine smiled with a mad intent lurking at the fake turns of her mouth. She edged forward so quietly.

"Little boy. Little, little boy so weak and childish. Never really grown up have you? Placing the blame of what you cannot do onto others smaller than you! You're a monster, a fool and an idiot all rolled into one!"

Alfred only glared. Ukraine smirked.

"Do you know _why _I've taken you here, my friend? It's simple. I just want to see you at your weakest state – something so very few of us have ever seen. You've always hidden away in yourself, haven't you? I brought you here for a simple thing. I brought you here to achieve what all the others have failed to have done!"

"The...The others? Who else is working with you?"

Ukraine smiled softly, but it was a cruel soft and her lilac eyes spoke of a terrifying animosity. "Who do you think?

America's face faulted completely and his world came tumbling down.

"They...couldn't. They promised! They _promised_!"

"Promises are made to be broken!" Ukraine laughed. "That's what promises are for, my little bird! They're little white lies wrapped within a ribbon of hope that are as fragile as the words they are founded upon. Little, little _Fredka_. You are so naïve to think that the world still looks upon you as a God of some sort. The Cold War is over and the threat of being drenched in the bloody colour of red no longer poses a threat! Alfred, they hate you! Alfred, _they hate you! _You have destroyed their world; you've overthrown the balance of central powers of which they were all founded upon! You have destroyed them and now it's their turn! Die, Alfred, die!"

She lunged and Alfred rolled. She hit the ground with a growl and darted over Alfred. The young nation jumped to his feet, ready to lunge _when_ –

The door slammed open and a blonde woman he had never seen before was leading a parade of _SWAT _members and armed policemen into the room. Alfred was suddenly pushed and sent sprawling. His balance was off; he hasn't eaten. He needed to get out of here before he was trampled–

An arm slipped around his throat and pulled toaut and suddenly he can't breathe. _He can't breathe_. Maniacal laughter sounded in his ear and black spots dance across his vision. Alfred could feel her heart thumping madly against his back and he knew she was going to kill him. She was going to _kill him, the United States of America_.

"Sister!" Ivan's voice was heard above the shuffling and shouts of moving bodies. "Sister, they're going–"

Alfred closed his eyes and Ukraine's grip gets tighter.

"I am doing what you were never able to–"

Her voice stopped quick as a hail of bullets _like the very ones shot off that marked his new day as a independent country. It had rained bullets that day _as quick as lightening shot through the air and smacked Ukraine in her unprotected side. She screamed and collapsed; releasing Alfred and sending him free. He scrambled away to immediately be hoisted up by a very good-looking black man and the blonde woman.

Through the sound of people trying to see how Alfred was, Alfred could hear Ivan sobbing. He had heard Ivan cry only once before. But that had been a long time ago and it sounded distorted and vile now. His hearing seemed to fading in and out. A hand suddenly appeared on Alfred's shoulder.

"Are you all right?"

It was Rossi. Alfred looked up, ready to nod when he realised that _no, he was not okay_. _Alfred the hero was not okay._

Alfred felt torn within himself. He clutched his fist and stared back behind at the collapsed Ukraine. Had he really done that? Had he injured her? No, wait. She hurt him. She violated his trust. She tried to break him. She tried to make him into something he was not; something he refused to be. She had tempted to turn his nightmares into a dark reality.

She was an enemy. She was an old friend turned by greed and unfairness. But she broke his trust. She was one no one longer to be trusted. She was the villain. He was the hero.

But did she deserve what she got? A hail of bullets and a broken arm? Did she? Did she? His mind spun with violent questions that went endlessly on and on within his trapped mind.

He went to look up at Rossi but it isn't Rossi any more. It wasn't anything. It was just dark and it was getting darker and darker every minute.

America groaned and his knees gave way. He can see Rossi trying to contact him and Ivan kneeling off to the side and clutching painfully at his chest as if his heart was about to fall off.

The young nation's world went spinning off his axis as the sirens get louder. The stone doors all around them break open and he can see his brother shouting commands. Motherfucker, can't you see he's laying on the floor kinda dead right now? He tried to snort but only ended up making a slow choking noise.

The room spun and Alfred lost his control. He fainted at last on the dirty stone floor with the question of whether he had done the right thing or not tumbling violently on his mind.

* * *

_"**I**t's **all** right** lad**, we'l**l b**e to**geth**er fo**re**ver."_

_"**We**'ll be **frie**nds f**ore**ver, **ve**~!"_

_"Dr**ink**ing b**udd**ies u**ni**te!"_

_"**If** you** g**ot the **pot, I** got** a se**at o**n y**our **couc**h with **my** na**me** on it**!"**_

_"I'll **be fri**ends** with** you, even** if you** are** a b**it to**o mu**ch for m**e.**"_

Far away, words began to carve themselves into the black brick.

_**Friendship is  
a lie**_

_T_**r**_u_**s**_t _**N**_o _**O**_n_**e**

_"You always fuck everything up!"_

_"Everyone thinks Italians are pompous airheads!"_

_"Man, you're annoying. Why are you so stupid?"_

_"Don't you have a hooker to bone somewhere?"_

_"You are no friend of mine."_

**_HUMANS ARE NOT MEANT TO KNOW._**

* * *

They're all outside the house now which loomed eerily in the background. Alfred was refusing to get into the ambulance and he kept childishly doing things to anger the paramedics. Rossi was seriously beginning to grow tired of this guy. He was glad that after this we would never see the nation again but things were never that simple. Especially with people like Alfred and people like Ivan.

Alfred suddenly broke free of his cot and began to run away from the scene in nothing but torn jeans. His shoes had been lost somewhere along the trip up the stairs and to the ambulance. It was only a few minutes until his brother Matthew was seen carrying a struggling Alfred back to the ambulance. That time, the Canadian handcuffed his brother to the edge of his cot.

Rossi was seemingly amused by the situation and wondered if the two north American brothers were very close. Were they or did their cultural differences keep them separate?

Rossi also had to wonder.

Would the events of today effect the world to come or would the world go on unsuspecting of the emotional trauma taken place?

* * *

Over in the driveway of the American's home, the rest of the team sat in wait for what next to come.

David leaned against the side of the car and sighed.

"Today has been too long."

"Is anyone looking forward to going home as much as I am?" Emily asked quietly, rubbing at her eye.

"My only issue is that today is not over yet." Reid answered. "Well, at least for me. I have to find Ivan. There is something I want to ask of him."

"I'm curious what's going to happen if that woman dies." Emily mumbled. "My mother helps runs her country and I just don't want...anything bad to happen to her either..."

"I don't know what'll happen. We're not supposed to know this stuff in the first place, so I can't say that they'll just tell us." Reid turned his head and suddenly spotted Ivan who was sitting at the base of Alfred's large front yard Oak tree. "Oh! There he is. I'll talk to you later then guys."

Reid briskly walked over the Slavic and sat quietly next to the large nation who remained concentrated on the ground. It was a moment before Reid finally spoke. "Why did you bring us here Ivan?"

The agent doesn't expect an answer, but he did receive one.

"There was no one else to turn to."

His voice is so quiet. So childish. Ivan twiddled his thumbs; the worn leather creasing softly as his thumbs turned and turned endlessly.  
"You were my only choice."

"Somehow I don't think that's true." Reid answered honestly. "You had other motives when you entered that office. You wanted your scarf back more than anything and you promised destruction if it was not returned to you."

There's a soft chuckle and Ivan turned and smiled at him. "Nothing passes you does it, Mr. Reid? I suppose I should explain myself. But do you really need an explanation? Can't you just live with the silly idea that a thousand year old entity needed your help in order to save someone close to them?"

"Not really. Not really at all."

Ivan sighed. "I suppose I should answer you, but it's a tough thing to answer if I'm to be honest. If you want my sheer honesty – then you have to accept it as it comes. Can you understand that comrade?"

"It's simple enough."

"You will hear this once and only once."

Reid nodded and Ivan leaned forward. The nation brushed the agent's hair behind his ear and brought his lips to it before cupping it with his leathered hands. A secret was being told so obviously. It reminded Reid of younger days; the days of a childhood long past where small children spent their days in the sandbox telling secrets that never really matter.

He can smell vodka but doesn't call Ivan out for it. The cool lips were moving.

"I was bored."

Ivan pulled away and his smile was back. That thick, cruel smile that told of lies and deceit. Reid can't help but stare at the other with an open mouth. Though, for some reason, he wasn't surprised at all. He had to expect it from a man with such a criminal persona as his. He had to expect it. He had to expect those words curling out from the thin, cool almost pale lips.

But somehow, he was stunned.

Then there was childish laughter and a hand clapped down on his shoulder.

"Tell only those who deserve it, hmm?"

And then the nation was gone.

* * *

A.N: I would like to thank natcat5 for the song at the beginning. For some reason I just love listening to it wrrlkfjelkjfe~ Thank-you. It helped get me this chapter out.

OKAY BULLSHIT TIME.

I admit this sucks. Like, well, the end does. Derpherp. I rushed it kinda because I wanted to get it over with and whatnot and blahblahblah.

**Removed because it was a dickmove to be honest**

_And dear anon - _France owes a lot to America and the supposed hatred they have for America is because of the fact that some french people are discontent with the fact that our tourists are commonly "ignorant" and the fact that they had their asses bailed out from such "ignorant people". The French necessarily do not hate America and Americans, rather they just despise our corrupt politicans and the ignorance that comes with some tourists. France has long had a respect for America and what it stands for - however, they just get angered by how stupid some people in America are. The French just hate how ignorant some people are - _it's just not America.__  
_

Then again, I might be wrong. Might as well put the gun to my temple as we speak.

However, my original post was a dickmove and I apologise for anyone who had to read that.

And oh yeah, my characters **do **suck. But oh well. Shit happens._  
_


	6. Gone

The Art of Insanity Epilogue

"_Born in grief, raised in hate, helpless to defy his fate.  
Let him run. Let him live.  
But do not forget what we cannot forgive._

_He is not one of us.  
He has never been one of us. He is not part of us.  
Not our kind._

_Someone once lied to us.  
Now we're not so blind.  
For we knew he would do what he's done and we know that he'll never be one of us._

_He is not one of us._

_Deception._

Disgrace." - Not One of Us by The Lion King 2 OST

* * *

Rossi knew, he just _knew_, that when he answered that phone that he was going to be overwhelmed with the feeling of wanting to break someone's kneecaps.

Alfred was missing again.

He was not one for swearing but he couldn't stop himself this time. Missing people weren't his department. While he did run into a case with a missing person every now and again, dealing with a nation who just happened to go missing every other Tuesday was not in his job description. That whole bullshit with the missing nation had just begun with an Arctic nation _who will go unnamed _trying to get a bunch of lower humans to do his job for him.

Luckily though, he had a feeling he knew where Alfred was.

"_Oh, I can't thank-you enough." _Arthur's accented voice said in his ear over the phone. "_That git always seems to be getting into trouble. Honestly, his house-mate should really think investing in a leash_..."

"I don't think that'll be necessary, Mr. Kirkland." He can't help feel slightly grudging towards the Briton. Maybe it was Alfred's influence slowly seeping into his thoughts and poisoning his judgement. Maybe it was just his mind dwelling on those horrible scribbles all over that wall.

"_You sure? Well, all right then. Please give me up a ring when you find the lad. I'm too old to be worrying myself like this. That boy needs to get a grip on reality–"_

Rossi sighed. "Don't we all? Good-bye, Mr. Kirkland."

He slammed the phone back down on the cradle and ripped out the plug from the wall jack. He picked up his coffee and sipped the rest down before looking hatefully at the paperwork that lay in wait. He would finish it later. Unfortunately, there was an idiot to locate at the time being.

With a message to Aaron that he would be out for the rest of the day, he shut off his phone and sneaked away to his car.

* * *

Rossi had to guess that the old saying was true. You normally heard a fool before you saw one.

"_Sheeeeeeeeeeeeee's satisfied to be a lady and a traaaaaaaaaamp,  
But there's something she just doesn't understand.  
Oh, god, the things she says!  
She waaants to be a lady and a tramp,_

_But she'd never show the lady to the band."_

Oh god, the horrors of modern music. As much as he disliked the song though, it helped him locate Alfred pretty quickly. He was in front of his wall of scribbles. The terrifying scribbles that told his life story. They looked more violent, more torn. They swerved this way and that and screamed across the wall. Emotion poured from the words and they seemed to twist as if they were alive themselves.

As he made his way down the hall, he ran his fingers over the wall. There were more words this time. They were twisting, swirling with the wall itself. Poisonous, they were – those words. He ran across something wet and realised that they were fresh. The ink burned his fingers.

"_But you may have missed it,  
And you're not some winsome misfit  
Speaking up for all of womankiiiiiiiind, yeeeeeah._

_Sheeeeeeeeeeee's satisfied to be a lady and a traaaaaaaaaaaaamp–"_

Alfred was scribbling and shaking his hips violently at the rhythm of whatever the hell he was listening to. His arm was a blur as it swung up and down the stone wall. His glasses were gone and were hanging out of the side of his jean pocket. He looked so young but yet so old if those dark bags were anything to go by. He looked haunted. He looked cursed. His blue eyes seemed to only speak of terrors as he gazed upon his masterpiece with a delirious lunacy.

Alfred was scribbling. He was scribbling madly. Rossi could only catch fragments of what Alfred was writing before he hastily scribbled it out. What was he doing? Was he in a moment that should never be disturbed? The young man seemed to be in an entirely different world.

Then, the speed decreased and Alfred's scowl faded into a hazy smile like he had just taken a whiff of some drug. His hand slowed and became less jerky and longer.

"_I can dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things..._"

He knew this. Holy hell, he actually knew this. Queen. Who knew that the kid would be a Queen fan? But then again, he's not surprised. But Alfred always struck him as a person would enjoy more...less-mooshy things? He struck Rossi as a "_Metallica"_ fan or whatever the hell it was.

"_What ya doin' tonight? Set my alarm, turn on my charm. That's because I'm a good old fashioned lover boy~ Lemme feel your heartbeat – _Oh fuck, what comes next."

Alfred stopped so suddenly that it's comical. His hand came to a complete stop with the sudden inability to remember the rest of a Queen song. Rossi chose to make this the time to reveal himself.

"Queen? You never struck me as a Queen person."

Alfred jumped. The glasses in his jean pocket fell to the ground and turned to face Rossi wildly. "Oh _Fuck_. You came out of no – shit, shit, my contacts are falling– _Holy fuck, I can see forever." _The young man readjusted his out-of-place contacts quietly before giving Rossi a winning smile. "Hey broski. Didya' like my company so much that you came to visit me?"

"Your...friends were worried that you had gone missing again. Do you make it a terrible habit to go missing every other Wednesday?"

"I find that it's a lot easier to disappear on a Thursday actually, but awwwww. They care about little old me so much to even think about sending out a search man? That's so _kind_. So _considerate._" His last words flourished and twisted on a thin edge of anger and deceit. America said nothing else and turned back to his wall.

"I don't have time for them." The young man clarified after a moment. "They can go fuck themselves for all I care."

"Mr. Jones, they are quite worried about you–"

"Right. _Riiiiight_. Okay come on Ross-man. No need for the formality. I've been around longer than necessary and there's no need for you to act like a gentleman here. So Alfred."

"I really don't care. Mr. Jones–"

"_Alllllfreeeeeed~!"_

"_Alfred_. You need to tell your frie – _fellow workers _that the B.A.U. isn't your baby sitter. If you have an issue with them worrying about where the hell you are, then _take it up with them_. Mr. Jones, if I have to come down this hellhole one more time and deal with the hell of walking back up again, I will make sure it is personal hell for you."

Alfred snorted. "Man you're frightening. Making me shake in my boots! _Italiano raaaage_! Pfft. Yeah man. I get what you're saying. Next time just don't even bother with them. I'll deal with them when I'm done."

"Mr. Jones –"

"Motherfucker, it's _Alfred_." He snapped suddenly. "Mr. Jones is something that my boss doesn't even call me. So stop with the damn formalities already."

Rossi raised a brow at the sudden outburst. The young man groaned quietly.

"Sorry man. I just...haven't been sleeping lately. No sleep really just plays with my mind. But seriously don't call me by my last name." Alfred's hand slowed to stop on the stone wall above him. "It's like I just can't any more. Like I'm struck petrified at the very thought of closing my eyes and drifting off into some slumber. It won't last forever. It didn't the first time."

"This has happened before?"

"It...It always happens after something traumatic man. Civil War. World War 1 and 2. Great Depression. Cold War...Oh man. Somany sleepless nights in that forty years. _So, so, so soooooo _many sleepless nights. _Sometimes_ I'd think that Russia would come crawling in through my window and slit me open while I slept to steal my heart. That's what I always thought. That he wanted my heart because his own was too damaged to proper functionally and he needed one similar to his own."

Alfred bent over to pick up his fallen glasses. "And he realised we're too similar to pass up the chance."

It was quiet and cold in the dark unending stairwell. America capped his marker and took a step away from the wall to view his work.  
"You're not just here to see if I'm all right." America said. "You're here for something else."

"I am." He doesn't even bother to hide it. He knew it was useless.

"Smart move."

Rossi said nothing and moved to stand next to the young man. He decided to take his own look at the wall and was slightly surprised to see the drawing. It was childish, crude but Alfred seemed to be proud of it. Like a child he was – with his mannerisms and bright smile, even if those eyes of his only told false lies.

It was a drawing of them. Him, Reid, J.J., Emily, Derek. He raised an eyebrow. Some were stick figures, crudely drawn with haphazard speech bubbles to voice their words; others were well drawn out and depicting scenes of great triumph and heroism. There were lone words too, but they were messy and weak and like a child's bad script. He couldn't read them and quietly he knew that had been the whole plan. Alfred didn't want anyone seeing those.

"Do I even _want _to know what these are?"

"These _are _my memories, Rossi my man!" Alfred exclaimed in his vibrant voice. It echoed off the walls. "What, do you think we remember everything about our pasts? Remember every war we've fought; every man we've slaughtered? Do you think we remember all the hatred we've felt, as if it's just like some massive fuckin' piece of drier lint that just keeps _collecting, collecting, collecting _until something finally sets it ablaze? We don't remember everything dude. God_damn_, we'd be fucked if we did."

"So these...drawings. They're to help you remember?"

"Pretty much. I remember almost everything with these drawings. They're like diary entries almost, but sometimes I forget to come down here so there's tons of gaps and shit. The Civil War is pretty blank 'cause I spent most of my time all over the fuckin' place. As far as I know, I'm the only one who uses this idea of drawing and scribbling, but a few other European's have written down their adventures as well."

Rossi took another look at the wall. To a point, it was a great piece of wonder. It mapped almost two-hundred and thirty-five years of life and spread across the wall like an infectious disease. It was magnificent, wondrous and ever expanding. The wall before him would be any historian's master dream of uncovering.

But yet, with it's scribbles and poisonous leaves, it would be of certainly no use. There would not be a soul that would take it seriously. It was childplay's, but yet to Alfred – it was his ever expanding masterpiece.

"How far does this go back?"

"Depends how far you want to go back." Alfred answered. "This was connected to a cavern where I used to draw on as a kid. This cavern has its roots in mine. It holds things I wouldn't even dare think of."

Rossi frowned. Alfred only smiled in return.

Boy, he really hated this kid.

He spoke in nothing but misguided riddles that spoke of darker times. He spoke of only himself and his extreme discontent for the rest of the world. The American's hand lingered on a wet part of the wall for only a moment and smiled tenderly; his blue eyes shining with something that was foreign and unwelcome on his new, gaunt features.

Then it clicked. The gestures, the words, the riddles, the careful caress as if with a sudden, immobile lover. _It clicked._

"The room we found you in is only a lie wasn't it?" His voice was quiet and sullen. "This hallway, this set of stone and mortar, _this_. This is the Room of Memories."

"Yep."

"And you stole Russia's scarf as a joke and it had absolutely _nothing_ to do with all of this."

"Yep."

"And Russia was simply using us not because he was unable to face his sister but because he was _bored_."

"Pretty much." Alfred snickered and Rossi scowled. "Oh come on _brohandas Ghandi_. You _had _to expect that one coming if **anything**. Dude, did this whole thing just totally fuck your understanding of Russia up? Don't let it do that. He's still a douchebag. He's the King of Douchebags!"

The older agent turned back to the stone wall with its thickly-penned doodles and drabbles that spread over its contours like a batch of burly thorns. He scowled deeper.  
"I was interrogating him before I arrived here on the night of the incident."

"Oh _maaaaaan_. Is that were you got that nasty shit on your forehead? Honestly, that dickwad doesn't understand that shit like that doesn't just _go away _on Humans." Alfred started to prod at the healing wound but Rossi slapped his hand away. Alfred still smiled though the quivering edges of his lips showed that his hands felt inflamed in fire. But it was obvious what he was, even though his hand burned with fire. He was so happy, so elated. He was so excited to talk to someone else that wasn't him. That wasn't his own overbearing conscious that bore down on him every minute of every day for all eternity. His eyes were lightening with each passing moment, even though they still held a quick grip on their precious delirium. That's what the foreign look was in his beryl eyes.

"As I was saying, I happened to have talked with him. If you consider his near breakdown a talk that is. Though, he mentioned that 'it was the wrong one'. What do you think he meant by that? Didn't he know the real extent of what was...occurring?"

There was a moment of silence but it was only because Alfred had taken a moment to check his phone for the time. He put the phone away and grabbed the edge of his jeans and slid them up.

"Probably. Probably not. Russia has two sisters, you see. Belarus and Ukraine. You can technically also consider Poland a sister too but yeah, uh, he's got two of them. Ukraine's...She's pretty normal most of the time. And Belarus...? She's the crazy one. She wants to marry Russia."

"Marry him?"

"Yep. Marriage. Weird isn't it? But really – if it had been about the scarf, then Belarus would have been your culprit. Ukraine was an unseen factor. Russia originally thought that Belarus had kidnapped me over the scarf and then discovered that she could 'break me' for him or something. I'm guessing it would be like her wedding present or some shit to Ivan. _Oh hey, I broke your old enemy's will. Let's get married, married, married!"_

"I...see."

Alfred chuckled. His arm suddenly made a large arc and Rossi looked back at the wall as Alfred started scribbling underneath.

_"You can break a mirror and put it back together, but you will always see the cracks of your mistake_."

The nation then stretched his arms. "It's okay man. I don't understand any of it either. Anything else you gotta ask me?"

"My co-worker also mentioned that Russia's sibling, Ukraine, was...more or less doing this for him."

"Kinda. It was for the world and for Russia. More for Russia than anything though. Even though she hated the time under U.S.S.R., she can't help but feel that it's her duty to bring her brother back up with the rest of the world. And the fact that like, everyone is pissed as fuck at me right about now because no one knows how to run a government lately. So it was more or less fifty-fifty."

"What makes you think you know that you're saying the truth and that your mind isn't simply telling you measly lies to make yourself feel better?"

Alfred started laughing loudly as if the very suggestion made him break down into a fit of laughter. "Man, if it was doing that I would be King of fucking Gingerbread Palace and my wife would be a female Iceland because damn that kid's got some nice legs too bad he's got a weird penis fetish and a dick so that can't really work because then it would be like two kings and one would always be trying to own up for something like with big cars or a penis museum in town-square and try to make the villagers pay large taxes so he can bathe in money and gold and jewels and bemoan his tiny dick and the other king would be eating all the villagers because there's no Queen to tell him '_No Alfred you can't eat the people – they're your subjects_!'and pretty much the Kingdom would collapse in on itself because guys can't get pregnant and I don't care how girly my hips are there is no fucking way I'm pushing a child out of me. I watch reality television and all I know it's pretty much just like WHUAAAAAAAGH NNNNNNNGH OH MY GOSH THERE'S A FUCKING THING COMING OUT OF MY VAAAAAG but where the fuck would it come out? So yeah there's no heir and there's no villagers because I ate them all and Iceland has a dick.

"**Anyway**, I know I'm right. Simply because this stuff is just easy to look at it when you've been around as long as I have. I've been around the block too many times for me to be even considered a virgin at this shit. I _know _that I'm not bullshitting myself because Russia is as he is and forever will he be the ugly duckling of Europe and Europe is tired of my bullshit as it is. They wanted to get back at me and did not know of a way and a why to do. Actually, there're tons of whys but most of them are not my fault – excluding the time I accidentally weed-whacked England's petunias _oops_ – but those would just pretty much kill my ego boner. So yeah –"

"Will you _just get on with it_?"

"An opportunity presented itself, my friend!" Alfred exclaimed in a grandoise manner; his voice bouncing off the walls once more. "I stole Russia's scarf simply because I split something on it and he's too much of a damn pussy to get the thing dry-cleaned! Ukraine found out that I had it because she came to visit me to talk to me about her gas-bill and she pretty much went psycho woman on me especially after seeing that it had a stain on it still from Russia shoving me and me shoving him back and accidentally elbowing a glass of accidentally left-out red wine and spilling it over his shit. Anyway. I didn't fight back because well, yeah, I can't hit girls. Not unless...Well never. She pretty much got the best of me. And smothered me with her boobs. I'm sorry, but those things could kill a small child."

"So she kidnapped you and...?"

"She took me to the fake room. She must have thought that this was the Room of Memories. Yeah man, it originally was a room and shit but I kinda expanded and found out I needed a lot more room...So yeah. Ukraine took me there and pretty much called up the rest of Europe and asked what to do with me. All I fucking heard that she'd only need to keep me until it was all over. Herpderaderpherp, whatever the fuck that meant I guess."

"So the rest of Europe was in on this?"

"Yep. Douchebags."

"And there's absolutely nothing you can do about it either is there?"

"Absolutely none." Alfred hissed. "Absolutely fucking _none_. Goddamn, I never have felt more useless and used in my entire life before. Fucking goddamn assholes. Go back to your motherfucking collapsing Europe! I'll dance till the last moonlight by myself!"

All of a sudden, Alfred turned and swung his fist forward and straight into the wall. The stone beneath Alfred's knuckles crumbled away as if it never was there.

"I try and try." He sneered. "And it's never good enough."

His knuckles were bloodied but he didn't care.

"That's why England tried to put a bullet into your agent's head." Alfred clarified. "Do you know why he did as he did? He found out Ivan was using you for his own personal gain and decided to try and turn that against him. Iggy doesn't trust humans. He never has._ Especially _ after the Gunpowder Plot. He thought that the House wouldn't react to you or your team. He thought you would never find me. While in the cruel reality – you were exactly what the house was looking for."

The thought that they were the people a _house _was looking for a little bit more than creepy, but nonetheless, the whole situation overall was creepy. He decided to skip on to the next question. "Hotch also told me something interesting. He told me that another person is living in the house. A man named Toris. Did he know?"

"Probably." He shrugged. "Toris knows almost everything that goes on in the world. Shit man, it may have been nearly over half millennia – that guy still knows what he's doing even if his partner in crime now delves into his more feminine side. But yeah he probably knew. Japan knew too. That's why he didn't give you the keys."

"The sleepy one...Greece? Him as well?"

"Don't even _know _about that one man. Especially with all the crapstorm that guy keeps getting. Revolutions, Revolutions _everywhere_. But he probably knew. Greece probably knew. France probably knew. They all knew. Even my brother."

"Your brother was very brave."

"Yeah I know. Hope the Hospital knows that he'll be gone in three days though."

"Do nations heal that fast?"

"Faster actually and I was hurt worse than him! Poor kid's never seen by anyone so it's not surprising he got runover with that cot thingy But yeah, Mattie's a strong bamf and he'll be gone soon enough back to his land of maple syrup and pot."

It was a rare moment of silence again where nothing more could be said and America went back to his drawings to suddenly stop again. He capped his heavy-duty marker and slipped it into his pocket and grinned at Rossi.

"If ya' wanna leave, just keep going downstairs all right and take the door to the left of the staircase. Like seriously. The one on the same wall. Yeah, it's that one. Got it, you got it? All right good! Later dude!" The older man was more than relieved when the young nation started to leave but things never seemed to work out correctly for David to begin with.

But he had one more question to ask before the nation took his final leave out of his life.

"Are you sure about Russia, America?"

America stopped in his tracks. When he turned, his face was blank but it only took a moment before a sly smile crawled onto its lips.

"If you spend forty years of an endless life running from the same man, you'd learn his moves too hmm?"

Then, Alfred turned before he realised it and he was suddenly shoving something into the front pockets of Rossi's pants. "Give me a call sometime, Broseph. Really, do it. _I have no friends_. But yeeeeah. If you ever need something from me, just give me a call yeah?"

Alfred left with a wave before he turned and continued on farther up the stairs, leaving Rossi to an endless stream of thoughts and a poisonous wall with useless memories.

* * *

The B.A.U. Was silent when Rossi returned hours later after getting lost in the nation's house, getting stuck in traffic and spending time at a local book-store. He collapsed in his seat and closed his eyes.

It was peaceful. It was so peaceful.

It was a rare peace, only given when no one was at the office and the phones weren't ringing off their hooks. He never got to experience the peace often, because there was always something small attempting to tear a rip right through it be it the incessant tapping of the keys on his keyboard, or a faraway phone ringing constantly or even a door slamming far away in an adjacent building.

His last peace was ruined by Russia. Almost, he expected that same looming Russian to be lurking in his corner. The nations had become apart of his life for a while and it was so strange to see them gone. He would probably never see them again. The card with Alfred's number on it seemed to burn a hole in his pocket at the thought.

This was peace. This was nice. He hoped it would last forever. He folded his hands over his chest and kicked his feet out onto the desk. He wanted this to last forever.

But the peace didn't last long.

The cold barrel of a magnum revolver brushed the edge of his temple and a dangerous _click_ jarred him from his silly dreams.

"_Humans aren't meant to know_."

_**Bang.**_


End file.
